


Wounds

by strangebloke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Dark Varys, Davos is a Spymaster, Elia Martell Lives, Gen, Greyjoy Rebellion, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Stannis, Lyanna Stark Lives, POV Davos Seaworth, POV Female Character, POV Lyanna Stark, POV Ned Stark, POV Stannis, Robert's Rebellion, Stannis the Mannis, rlj
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangebloke/pseuds/strangebloke
Summary: "Stannis Baratheon will break the kingdom before he ever rules it."When Robert dies of wounds sustained on the Trident, it falls to his younger brother to put the kingdom together. Stannis is not the man his brother was. He commands fear and respect, but not love, and even as he grips the kingdom it seems to come apart in his hands.Lyanna Stark did not die in Dorne. But a part of her, the silly romantic part, did die, and now she must find what her place in the world is to be.





	1. Prologue

Robert’s Rebellion had come at last to its climax. A hundred thousand men had gathered, wearing Eagles, Wolves, Stags, Dragons or Flowers. Screams of death filled the air and the Trident ran red with blood. The war was over what man should be king of the seven kingdoms, but each man had his own reasons for fighting. Family, glory, loyalty, cruelty…

Robert Baratheon fought for a girl.

His Lyanna, his sweet girl. The girl he had loved more than any other; the girl he had been fated to marry. The girl that the Dragons had stolen from him. No, not the Dragons. It had been Rhaegar. Rhaegar had been the one to steal his Lyanna from him. Rhaegar, the perfect prince. “The king may be mad but his heir is a good man.” they would always say, apologizing for Aerys’ madness and cruelty. That ‘good man’ had taken the sweetest, fiercest, most beautiful girl in Westeros, had stolen her from his family, and had raped her a hundred times by now. Only now, months later, had Rhaegar been pulled away from that occupation. Robert’s fury had accomplished that. Next, Robert’s fury would accomplish his death.

Robert’s vision swam with red as he swung down his war hammer, crushing the skull of a crownslander knight. He had lost his lance somewhere earlier in the fray and he had not taken the time to turn back and get a new one. His hammer fell again and again, coming up bloody after every strike. He had been fighting for hours, but he was scarcely aware of the passage of time. At some point Corbray had made a charge to cover his flank. At some point he had stopped fighting Tyrell levies and had moved onto Crownslanders.

The Dragon’s banner had been growing steadily closer. Rhaegar was beneath that banner. “Come fight me, blackguard!” Robert screamed. “Come stand trial by combat! I’ve no thirst for the blood of your lackeys!” A knight of Duskendale closed with Robert. Robert shifted in his saddle, letting the knight’s estoc glide off of his armor. His horse gnashed its teeth and stamped, turning to give Robert a better angle. The knight moved his shield to deflect the hammer, but so great was the weight of the hammer that he still nearly lost his seat. Robert swung his hammer again, and when the hammer slammed into the knight’s chest, Robert could feel the ringing in his arms. The Duskendale Knight toppled lifeless from his horse.

Robert laughed aloud as his knights cheered him on. “Come on lads!” he called out, “We can’t keep the monster waiting, now can we?” A resounding shout was their reply and they pressed on. They pressed on through row after row of knights. Many of them fell. They were replaced by new knights. Blood and gravel gave way to water as they entered the shallows.

That was when Robert saw him. A little ways up the line, resplendent in jet-black armor, with dragon-wings etched into his helmet. A storm filled Robert’s’ chest and exploded out of his throat. “RHAEGAR! COME OUT TO DIE!” In that moment, the battlefield vanished. Lyanna disappeared from his thoughts. Only he and the black prince existed and all else was meaningless noise. He raced to Rhaegar, heedless of danger. The black prince turned his head. Robert struck down a bothersome gnat of man in the way. They were thirty feet apart, twenty, ten.

Rhaegar’s estoc skewered Robert just below the shoulder, tearing a hole in the mail and making him bleed. Robert ignored it. The long narrow blade could be deadly, but a hit to the shoulder was not a mortal wound. Anything less than a mortal wound at this point was meaningless. This fight was the end, nothing after it needed to be considered. He took the hit, swinging his hammer in thunderous reply. Rhaegar adjusted his seat and let the blow slide off of his shield, countering with a tight jab that cut into the hole he had made earlier.

Rhaegar Targaryean was a smaller man than Robert. He was weaker and had not pursued warfare with the single-minded focus that Robert had. But he was also more fresh and clear-headed than his opponent. He kept his eye on that deadly hammer, taking every precaution to dodge and weave away from it. Every time the hammer fell, he countered with a rapid thrust. Robert was bleeding, and that was all that mattered.

“WHERE IS LYANNA??” Robert bellowed, when the horses force them apart for a moment. “WHERE IS SHE, RHAEGAR?” He heaved his hammer again, and he felt the pain throb in his shoulder. Rhaegar did not answer, electing instead to lean out of the way of the deadly weapon.

Robert’s rage had only been building with each passing strike. Deep, abiding hate filled him. In another universe, his hammer had found its home on the third strike and had borne Rhaegar deep into the Trident. In this one, Robert’s rage overtook him. He closed with Rhaegar again, and again Rhaegar’s esctoc lashed out. This time, Robert did not even make a pretense of dodging. He let the blade cut into his shield-arm and dropped his hammer, grabbing the black prince’s wrist with his massive mailed fist and ripping him bodily from the saddle.

They both fell into the waters of the trident and came up fighting. Gone was the clash of legendary knights, replaced by an ugly brawl more fitting of Flea Bottom than of the trident. Rhaegar punched and kicked and twisted, but Robert’s hands were like steel bands. He held onto Rhaegar’s wrist and punched him with his shield. He punched him again, and then a third time, and then he lost count. Robert did not even notice when Rhaegar stopped hitting back. “LYANNNAA!” He finally screamed, crumpling the black prince’s helm with a final blow. Around him, the battle had already been won. The forces of the Royalists retreating as their leader fell.

The haze of battle lifted from Robert. Rhaegar was dead. He had killed the man so many times in his dreams of late that it almost did not feel real to have finally done it. Robert wandered through the ranks of his soldiers, drunk on victory. They brought a half-dead Barristan Selmy before him. He pardoned the poor bastard, what else could he do? The day had been so long so and full of fighting, and he was tired, all the exhaustion of the day crashing onto him at once. He saw his friend, Ned, ride up to him, and greeted him with a glowing smile.

“Ned, you made it out alive!”

Ned smiled, but the smile was strained. “Your Grace…” Robert scowled. Why did his best friend insist upon… “You are wounded.”

Robert glanced at the wounds that Rhaegar had left him. They had seemed so small at the time, he hadn’t gotten them looked at, but now… “I suppose I am bleeding rather a lot.” He could feel the sticky sap of dried blood caking underneath his cuirass. It was a good thing he was such a big man. A man of Ned’s size would probably have bled to death. “Aye, I should see to it. Get me a maester, a hot fire, and enough wine to drown myself in and I will be right by morning.”

Halfway to the maester’s tent, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, king of the Andals and of the First men, fell off of his horse and died.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:My wife and I dreamt up this whole story between the two of us as we drove through Ohio. It's been nearly a year since then and I've nearly completed it! I'm going to be posting a chapter a day until the end, but if you're interested in skipping to the end, you can find this story easily enough on FFnet or Spacebattles or Althistory.
> 
> This story is a shipping story. The goal was to ship two characters together in a plausible manner. But this is not a *shipping* story. It isn't about a ship. Its about Stannis' rule and how he is a better king than his brother in some ways, and a worse king in others. Hope you enjoy!


	2. The King Is Dead

The body of the King had been laid in a tent. The story for the moment was that he had fainted, and required the attentions of a maester. The truth would be out soon enough, but even a small amount of time was invaluable. An army needed leadership, needed direction. If news of Robert’s death spread to the army before the rebellion’s leadership collected itself, the only result would be panic.

Dark thoughts filled Ned’s head as he looked upon the massive corpse that had been Robert Baratheon. There was a maester poking and prodding it, checking for evidence of poison, treachery, and all other unnatural causes. Ned was familiar with death. His father, his brother, his sister in all likelihood, and now his best friend as well. This war had cost too much. The prince, Rhaegar, had died too. Robert might have found comfort in that fact. Ned only felt cold. 

“Too much blood lost.” The maester’s grave face turned to Ned. He gestured at Robert’s battered armor, and the blood-soaked coat that had gone underneath. “His Grace had been bleeding internally for hours, in addition to his other wounds. Stab wounds from his fight with Rhaegar, aggravated by Robert’s own strength, a bruised rib from where he fell off of the horse… most of the damage was hidden by his armor. A deep wound often hurts less than a shallow one, it is likely His Grace didn’t believe himself to be mortally injured. Even if he had sought help immediately...” the maester spread his hands apologetically. “His Grace had lost so much blood.”

He died of his wounds. That was not so surprising, really. More knights died after the battle than during, after all. Every knight knew to have his wounds inspected as soon as possible, but so often there were other priorities. In the heat of a fight, a man could ignore any number of injuries, and Robert had been a tough, stubborn bastard. Gods, after killing Rhaegar the man must have felt invincible. Everyone else in the rebellion had fixated on Aerys but for Robert, Rhaegar might as well have been the Other himself. A dull smile tugged at Ned’s lips a moment. At least his friend had died without regrets.

“The pain would have been little enough, I’m happy to say,” The maester said with a cough. “However-”

An armored form parted the tent and the maester’s voice trailed off. The man who entered was tall, straight, and dressed in plain gray armor. “Leave us.” The man stated, and so the maester did. “Tell no one yet.”

Jon Arryn. The Lord of the Eyre and Ned’s second father. The man had been as good as a father to Robert these last few years, and without his planning the rebellion would have been impossible. “Ned...” the man breathed, a deep sympathy suddenly coming into his voice. “I came as soon as I could. I hardly believed it when I heard, but...”

“Aye.” Ned stated. There was nothing else to say. This wasn’t the first friend they had buried together.

Silence ruled for a minute. Jon went to the body and touched Robert’s face with his hand, saying a silent prayer to the Seven, Ned supposed. Jon took a deep breath, and Ned realized that the old man was crying.

The tent flap opened and the towering, heavy figure of Hoster Tully moved in. He did not say anything for a moment, letting the men grieve. Several minutes passed, and when Hoster finally spoke, it was with a voice like gravel. “We need to decide on a path forward, Ned, Jon. With respect to the crown, I mean. Mourning must come after.”

Other take him, did it always have to be about the bloody crown? Robert had been a king, but he had been a friend first. Others take the crown too. The bloody thing had hardly done Ned any favors.

And yet… he was right. Ned sighed. There were tens of thousands of living men who needed their attention at the moment. The dead could be buried later. “Aye.” Ned stated again. “I have thought about that some. It has to be Stannis or Renly next, we don’t have any other option. If we hadn’t already killed Rhaegar, or if we hadn’t crowned Robert, or if...” If Robert had not died, “...we might talk, but as it stands, Stannis is our king, if he lives.”

“I don’t know that we have to declare for him.” Hoster rumbled. “We declared for Robert, because of who he was, not because of his bloodline. We never properly crowned him, though so it isn’t the same as it might be otherwise.”

“You’re speaking of a regency.” Jon’s voice was very soft.

“Well, I am, I suppose. That’s what we were trying to do to begin with, and as mad as Rhaegar and Aerys were, there have been good Targaryen kings before. Catelyn already has a child upon the way, and Lysa may as well for all I know. Marry the Targaryen children into our families and we will all be tied together. Tully, Arryn, Stark, Targaryen, and Martell. Five of the Seven Kingdoms, united to the throne by blood and covenant.”

Ned did not say anything at first. His goodfather had not been as taken with Robert’s bid for the throne as others had, and Stannis was a total enigma. Robert’s character had made men follow while he was alive, but would it be enough to make men follow his brother while he was dead?

“If we had Aegon here, that might be one thing.” Jon’s voice had turned hard again. “But he is currently with his grandfather in King’s Landing, or in some other loyalist holding. If we state publicly that we mean to replace Aerys with his own grandchild...”

Hoster swallowed. “Aye. Stannis is with the Tyrells, though, and even more distant than Aegon.” He paused, as though a sudden though had struck him. “Just say to the men for now that we’re fighting to depose Aerys, and that if Stannis is still alive when we find him, we can hold a Great Council of the Realm, with all the seven kingdoms represented.”

“And what will we do, at such a council?” Ned stated flatly, his eyes fixed on Robert’s corpse. “We’ve spat upon the Targaryen dynasty in every way we could have. We killed Rhaegar and we will kill Aerys before we’re through. We broke our oaths to the Targaryens and acclaimed Robert as king. Are we going to go back on those oaths to Robert now, and swear to a baby while his father’s blood is still upon our hands? All men would despise us as craven opportunists with no sense of honor.”

“There’s also the matter of alliances.” Jon’s eyes had narrowed. “You cannot rule the seven kingdoms without support from either the Westerlands or the Reach. Neither of them bear us any love and while a regency might make the Martels favorable to us, we would still have to court Tywin’s favor. ”

All the men in the room tensed. Tywin had been a looming, enigmatic threat throughout this whole war. The man held the second largest region in the seven kingdoms with an iron fist, and he had been ominously inactive throughout the rebellion.

Ned frowned. “We will have to make peace with him regardless.”

“And if Stannis is king, Tywin has a daughter.” Jon’s smiled tightly. “What was it you said, Hoster? Binding our houses to the Throne? We are already bound to the Baratheon line, by covenant if not by blood.”

Hoster nodded slowly. “Yes, yes… I see it now.” The big man paused. “But, what sort of man is Robert’s brother? He’s scarcely left the Stormlands.”

Stannis Baratheon. Ned had seen the frowning man only a few times. He was in form much like Robert, huge and imposing, but in temperament he was as sour as his older brother had been genial. Robert had trusted and despised Stannis in equal measure, and to all appearances Stannis had returned the sentiment. Ned cleared his throat. “From what I’ve seen of him, he’s both responsible and serious. He’ll manage the administration of a kingdom fairly. He’s also very strong-willed.” Ned added almost as an afterthought. “Without his determination in holding onto Storm’s End, the Tyrell host at the Trident would have been half again as large.”

“In any case, he’s a young man, and hopefully can listen to good counsel.” Jon added, earning a nod from Hoster. “Good. Glad we are all in agreement. If the man still lives, he is king.”

“King Stannis Baratheon.” Hoster breathed, nodding to himself.

“Aye.” Ned added. “This changes little in the short term. We cannot break the siege at Storm’s End without first taking King’s Landing.”

Jon shook his head. “We need to break the siege as soon as possible. Setting King’s Landing to order might take weeks - weeks in which our king might starve to death. Or Mace might attempt something foolish, like storming the castle.”

“A doomed enterprise.”

“But Stannis might still die.” Hoster rumbled. “If he’s anything like his brother, he’ll be manning the battlements with the rest of them.” He laid a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “How fast could you get to our King?”

Ned frowned, maps and names and numbers flitting through his head. “The Kingsroad is the fastest route, and we’ll be fighting along it all the way to King’s landing. There are lesser roads, which would allow a smaller force to evade the Crown’s main army and move more quickly, but they are only simple dirt roads. I can move at most five thousands that way, or perhaps ten if we split into two groups. We would move quickly, since we would not have to fight and we would not have to set King’s Landing to order, but...” Ned shook his head. “It is a play fraught with danger. We’ll have a hard battle to break the siege at Storm’s End, and we’ll be incredibly exposed along the road. If the main army turns on us, or someone rallies a local army....”

“Would you get to Stannis more quickly?” Jon’s eyes met Ned’s.

“Weeks, maybe a whole month.” Ned stated, letting out a breath. “We’ll come within a day’s ride of King’s Landing, but we could avoid the main force.” He paused. “Is this worth it? If the remnants of Rhaegar’s army turns on us...”

“Stannis is our king, Ned. He takes priority over everything else.” Jon scolded. “Besides that, the Crown’s army is leaderless and will likely remain so. Who will rally them? The Kingsguard are dispersed, captured, or dead. The Lords of Dorne and the Reach hate each other, and the Stormlanders are viewed with suspicion by everyone. The army is bleeding hundreds of soldiers every day, and dozens of minor nobles have already defected or surrendered. By the time we get to King’s landing we’ll be facing mostly goldcloaks.” Arryn paused. “In any case, that will be my problem. I’ll cut down their scouts and pickets; they’ll be as blind as they are disorganized.”

“I’ll need the freshest of the Northern soldiers.” Ned stated firmly. “The Umbers, Karstarks, and Glovers.”

“Done.” Arryn stated. “You will lead half the army south, I will lead the rest to King’s Landing. Hoster, if you could gather the lords for an announcement?” Hoster nodded and left the tent. As soon as he was gone, Jon shot Ned a wan smile. “My apologies, Eddard.”

“You gave reasons for Hoster to support Stannis.” Ned stated “They weren’t your reasons. I understand that.”

Jon nodded, and Ned could now see the tears in his eyes. “Robert’s memory is all the reason I need. Regret is a powerful thing Ned, and I… have many things to regret.”

“Aye.” Ned said. His father, his brother, his sister, and now Robert too. They had all died and left him alone. “I am the same.”

“Regret, anger, and a hunger for vengeance, that is what has guided us, yes? And we have found more of it along the way for our trouble.” Jon laughed coldly. “But Hoster, Tywin, and Mace are motivated by different appetites. Their concern is the future, their own legacies and reputations. We have to speak their language, Ned. We must keep the Realm together. Now come, we have to announce the death of the King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Story is named "Wounds" obviously because of the wounds that Robert died of, but also because of what Ned and Jon talk about here. This story is about wounds of the spirit, regrets and how they impact your ability to move forward.


	3. Long Live the King

Pain throbbed through Davos’ hand. Joints he no longer possessed pulsed and burned in the morning air. The maester had told him that he might be feeling the phantom pain for the rest of his life. Davos did not know whether or not that prospect encouraged him. He touched the pouch he wore around his neck and looked out.

His mind was a hundred miles away with his wife. His lady wife now, or close enough, though she lived in Flea Bottom amidst criminals and merchants. He flexed his short-fingered hand and imagined running it through her hair, along her back… He smiled to himself. It might be most of a year before he saw her again. If he saw her again. But she would wait for him. He would have a shortened hand, and she might have another child, but they would alway come together again, somewhere, somehow.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the the Stormlands. It was said that from the tallest point of Storm’s End you could see halfway to King’s Landing if the weather was clear. Likely a load of shite, Davos thought, but the view was impressive. The central drum tower of Storm’s end was one of the tallest structures in Westeros, supposedly made to withstand an ancient god of storms. The tale was a fanciful one, but standing atop the tower Davos could nearly believe it. The wind around him howled like a beast on the hunt.

“Morning, Ser Onion!” The sound came from the hatch below. “It’s awful early to be this high up in the castle.” A scrawny head and neck poked it’s way up onto the tower. Like everyone else in Storm’s End, the man was starving. Davos was too, but he had not been in the castle long enough to earn the emaciated features that everyone else wore.

Davos smiled. “Morning.” He paused, awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t think I got your name?” 

“Jerro.” The man replied with a smile. “Just Jerro of Flea Bottom, no surname, though some friends call me Pointy, on account of me being able to prick whatever women as pleased me.” 

Davos’s eyes narrowed. He had known a Pointy in Flea Bottom. It had been a winter ago, but… there, there it was. Davos saw the resemblance, all at once. The man’s face had aged ten years in the past five, but it was Pointy who stood there. “You son of the Stranger, what are you doing here?” Last Davos had known, the street rat had been loading boxes full of contraband in the docks of King’s Landing. He clasped the man’s hand gave him a firm hug.

“Oh, we had a slow year, so I went back to me dad’s family down in the town there. Thought I’d try my hand at soldiering for a bit, keep the belly full.” Pointy gave a joyless laugh. “You can see how that worked out. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to come up and say hullo to you, seeing as we’re old pals and all, but there’s always been someone around.”

Davos nodded. He did not consider Pointy to be an ‘old pal’ by any means, but he enjoyed seeing a familiar face. “You didn’t think Stannis would appreciate hearing of your former career?”

“F-fuck that,” Pointy stated, shivering involuntarily in the wind. “Would you have come in and saved our arses if you knew you’d lose a hand in thanks?”

Davos smiled. “A castle’s worth more than a few fingers. Stannis is fair.”

Pointy laughed again, hugging himself. “Oh, yeah, fair’s the word. He treats everyone the same way. Harsh as vinegar.” He caught Davos’ eyes suddenly. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think any other man could have kept us all alive this far in a siege. If he weren’t so bloody axeheaded we’d all have shivved each other already, I reckon. Or maybe we’d have surrendered, and fuck that. Still, as soon as...” Pointy swallowed. “If we ever get out of here, I’m headed back to Flea Bottom. Honest living has nearly done me in. It’ll do you in, too, if you let it. That castle and all the nobles looking down on you… you’ll be back to smuggling wine again, I give you three years.”

Davos chuckled. “You’d think differently if you had children.”

“For all I know I do. Don’t see what difference it would make.” Pointy sniffed. “Anyway, what makes you think you’re doing your brood all such a big favor? Should have asked for money and buggered off to Braavos or someat. No sense in getting tangled up with lieges and Kings and all that.”

Davos looked out at the rising dawn. “Everyone serves someone. The Braavosi will tell you that, and they don’t believe in kings. I’d rather be ruled by a lord than be ruled by my fear and the hunger in my belly. My children will be educated, well-fed, and will have every option available to them. I’m happy to be a knight, if only for them.” He sighed. “And besides, I’m an old man who’s tired of hiding.”

Pointy laughed. “Your rosy picture won’t survive long, I wager. These noble types gussy themselves up with talk about rights and rules, but they're as full of hate and piss as any Flea Bottom rat.”

Davos nodded. “Most of them.”

Pointy’s smile widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat as light spread over the plain.

“They’re...” Davos blinked stupidly. His eyesight was keen for a man his age but he could hardly believe what he was seeing in the light of the dawn.

“They’re moving!” Pointy called out with glee. The Tyrell camp had been parked a short distance from the walls for most of a year. Close enough that watchers on the walls could pick out the faces of the feasting lords of the Reach. Now they were moving. They were moving to fight off attackers! “Stannis needs to know about this!”

By the time they had picked their way down to the yard, the word had already spread. The whole garrison had assembled, and a nervous buzz of talking filled the air. Lean faces split into grotesque smiles. Everyone had something to say. The war had been won, Aerys had yielded, one said. The Reach had joined the rebellion, and would soon be sending peace delegations, another said.

Only one face in the crowd remained grave. Davos saw him, standing above the crowd on a raised platform. His face betrayed no relief or joy, just constant, abjurate determination. His body, however, told a different story. The man was a wreck. Tall as a tree, but as slender as a twig, Stannis looked like a man twice his age. But now, for the first time, Davos noted, the young man was allowing himself to look tired. 

“There’s another force!” The call came out from the wall. “There’s another force approaching! They must have stolen a march in the night! Tens of thousands of them!”

The news of the Tyrell’s leaving suddenly did not seem so interesting. The nervous whispers turned to clamorous shouting, everyone demanding to hear more. Dozens of men began the long climb to the top of the curtain wall to get a better look.

“Everyone, form up!” Stannis’ voice rang out like a hammer striking steel. The crowd stopped and turned to face him with one accord. “Whoever is out there, we need to be ready. We’ve had little enough news from the outside these past few months.” No ravens had been coming to the besieged castle. Davos had been surprised at this, but it was thought that their allies feared that their messages would be intercepted. Or perhaps ravens had been sent and had been intercepted. Either way, The besieged knew nothing of the outside world.

“I want every man at his post! For all we know, those reinforcements are on the Tyrell’s side and they’re getting ready to storm this place. This castle hasn’t ever fallen and it will not now, not while we’re all alive to defend it. You all know your duty and you all know what we do to those who lag about. Get moving!”

Chaos exploded as every man moved to his post. Davos fell in behind Stannis and the other knights as they began the climb to the top of the curtain wall. Stannis barked commands as he walked, sending away knights at every step. “Ser Florent, get the horse. Ser Selmy, get a banner guard put together. Ser Tarth...” Soon it was just Davos and Stannis climbing to the top of the wall. 

“It’s the lions, milord.” a guard stated as they came atop the wall. “I mean the Lannisters. They surrounded the Reachmen in the night and the Tyrells are trying to cut free, but I don’t think they will be for long.” The guard smiled viciously. “The Westerland force outnumbers them heavily.”

The wall was forty feet thick on the landward side and a hundred feet high. The whole battlefield spread out before them like a map on a table, each of the armies little more than colored blocks. The screams of the dying were little more than whispers from this distance. How many children were being made fatherless today? Might his own boy be one of those knights down below in ten years time?

The Lannister force did not really outnumber their opponents. At least, they had not when the fighting had first started. But the Tyrell force had been spread out across the whole neck of the penninsula secure and unprepared for this fight. How had so great a host sneaked up upon the Tyrells? It seemed very strange, but clearly something of the kind had happened. Men were fleeing the battlefield in terror and confusion.

Soon enough, the fighting stopped. The Reachmen’s position had been impossible from the start. A small group of knights broke away from the main host at the last minute, trying to escape around the edge of the Lannister host, but they were too slow and then the battle was all over. The white flag of truce went up and a great cheer sounded out along the wall.

Meager provisions were brought up to them as they looked on. Prisoners were sent from the Reachmen to the Westermen. The wind whipped and howled and Master Cressen came to join them. Finally, a delegation from the Lannister host approached the castle. Twenty knights, at least, but from this height the delegation looked like nothing more than a crawling caterpillar. 

As they grew closer, Davos could make out prisoners in their midst. He recognized them. Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne and half a dozen other great names of the Reach. The rider at the front wore golden armor that twinkled in the noonday sun, and presently he halted, holding up his hand in a sign of peace.

A page dismounted and ran forward calling out, “Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the west, would treat with His Grace King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Silence reigned upon the wall, as every man looked to his neighbor. Davos felt more than one set of eyes turn to him and he could only frown. He had more recent experience with the outside world than any of his neighbors, but he had heard nothing of this. Stannis, a king? Robert must have declared himself king and then died, there was no other explanation for it. The man was nearly a boy still, and now he was expected to rule all of the Seven Kingdoms?

Stannis furiously ground his teeth and after a moment, spoke with a voice as harsh as a raven. “Lord Lannister! I am in your debt. We have been under siege for nearly a whole year. The ravens do not fly to Storm’s End as of late, and so I must ask you: What is the state of the Seven Kingdoms?”

The golden knight removed his helmet and prodded his horse forward. Davos had no idea what Tywin Lannister looked like, but from the deference the other knights were showing him it was clear that this was the Lord Paramount himself. “Your brother declared himself king at Riverrun.” Tywin’s voice was as joyful as the grave. “He made battle against Rhaegar Targaryen, and defeated him in single combat in the waters of the Trident. Unfortunately, he died of his wounds thereafter, and so his title falls to you, your Grace.”

Stannis’ jaw flexed uncomfortably and he was quiet again for moment. “It seems there is much of which we need to speak.” He finally stated. “Open the gates, men, and bring bread and salt for Lord Tywin.”

For the first time in a year, the gates of Storm’s End shuddered open. Stannis turned on his heel to make for the stairs, and for the briefest of moments Davos’ eyes met Stannis’. The young man’s eyes were burning with rage, anger at everything and everyone. Davos did not like the thought that a young man would bear so much anger. He liked the idea of a king bearing such anger even less.

The King took the stairs by storm. The man was as starved and rail-thin as anyone in the castle, but he moved with furious energy. Davos stumbled after him as best he could, but when he made it to the bottom, the Lords were already speaking with the King. Tywin had been kneeling, seemingly, and now stood alongside his bannermen in front of Stannis.

Stannis was in the middle of a speech, pacing back and forth as his eyes bored into Tywin’s forehead. “...is the first military action that the Westerlands have taken in this entire conflict?” Stannis stated bluntly. “I am fortunate that you have finally chosen sides.”

If Tywin took insult, he did not show it. He returned Stannis’ glare with a dull stare of his own. “The decision to join with your cause was not an easy one. I had responsibilities to the realm, to my king, and to my family. But lest you doubt that I am committed to your dynasty, know that it was my own son who cut the Mad King down. Moreover…” He raised his hand in a signal. “Clegane, bring forward the prisoners.”

Knights came forward, pushing the prisoners in front of them. Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, Paxter Redwyne, Baelor Hightower, and half a dozen others that Davos couldn’t name. All powerful Lords of the Reach, although they hardly looked the part. Bruised, dirtied, and stripped of their armor, the Lords of the Reach looked more like a shoddy band of sellswords than anything else. Mace Tyrell was pushed to the front and forced to kneel. One of Tywin’s knights, an impossibly huge man, unsheathed a massive greatsword and held it ready.

“This man is a traitor to your brother’s rule who fought for the Mad King and sought to kill you and your brother. I have taken him and these others captive, that you might cast your judgement upon them. If your order is execution, Ser Clegane will carry it out immediately.” Tywin’s voice continued in a lower tone. 

Davos winced at this proclamation. However the lines had fallen, the Tyrells had behaved honorably in the war. When Aerys had called, they had answered, and unlike the Dornish they had not been coerced. In any case, execution was a frightfully harsh punishment for a Lord Paramount, even under the circumstances. Davos was no scholar, but he knew that the vast majority of the nobles who had declared for the Blackfyres in that rebellion had been allowed to keep their heads and most of their lands. Did Mace truly deserve death?

Stannis said nothing for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as though he were having a whole conversation within himself. Mace Tyrell took advantage of the silence to blubber out: “Your Grace, it is true. It is all true. I fought against you; I did everything in my power to take Storm’s End from you. That was the command of my liege. I had not even heard that he had died, I- I merely obeyed, Your Grace. I- I swore an-” The massive knight delivered a kick to Mace’s side and the lord yelped in pain, earning a cruel laugh from the assembled garrison. 

“You are on trial, Mace, and you will speak when the King tells you to speak.” Tywin’s voice stated firmly. The men were still smiling from the kick Mace had gotten. They had run out of rats to eat the week before Davos had arrived, and even in the past few month it had been nothing more than onions and turnips, carefully rationed. Sieges were inherently grueling affairs, but Mace had gone to extra lengths to make the experience unbearable, with his feasting, his constant patronizing offers of reward for anyone who opened the gates… Davos suspected that the whole garrison would have been chanting for Mace’s head if Stannis hadn’t been there. For now all eyes were on the king.

“What should I care, if he speaks or not?” Stannis ground out. “You think I don’t know where we both stand? This siege has nearly been a year in length. Every day of this last year, I woke up and saw this fat face taunt me while all around me the faces of good men grew paler and thinner. Every day, I stood on the walls for hours and watched him gorge himself.” Stannis rounded on Mace, who visibly flinched. “I had to starve my own brother. Do you understand that? A boy of barely six and I had to feed him rats and bootstraps and explain to him over and over why he couldn’t fill his belly. I think we’re both perfectly aware of the situation.” 

Both Mace and Tywin moved to interject, but Stannis’ voice had reached a dull crescendo. “Lord Mace, every day I have hated you and envied you and wished that you would die. And now I am to stand in judgement over you, and by all the old gods and new I do not wish to show you mercy. But what am I to stand in judgement for? What crimes are you guilty of? What charges are brought against you? That you served your king? That you laid siege to his enemies?” Stannis scowled.“I may hate you, Mace, but I cannot fault you. Bend the knee to me now, serve me and my descendants as faithfully as you served Aerys, and you may return to Highgarden with all your titles and lands intact.”

The massive knight put away his greatsword and Mace scrambled to rise to his knee but the knight laid a heavy gauntlet on his shoulder. Tywin’s ringing baritone drowned out Mace’s protests. “Your Grace, tread carefully. You are king of the realm, but your realm is not yet secure. Loyalty is of the utmost importance. Rhaegar’s younger brother has fled to Dragonstone and it is possible that he will yet raise forces against you. The Reach is one of the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, and should not be trusted to a Targaryen loyalist without careful consideration.”

“And executing a Lord Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms without a trial does not require careful consideration?” Stannis growled. “Or have you forgotten how this whole war started?”

“Wars have consequences.” Tywin stated quietly. Davos noted a few furtive nods throughout the assembled garrison.

“Meaning that you expect a reward for picking the right side? Your loyalty is appreciated, Lord Tywin, and will be acknowledged. Lord Tyrell’s loyalty will be bought with hostages and marriages and threats.” Stannis let out a gust of air through his nostrils. “Enough. Mace will swear fealty to me now. He and the rest of the Reach lords will accompany us to King’s Landing. We will decide upon everything there.”

As Mace and Stannis and the assembled Lords of the Reach exchanged the sacred vows of Lord and Bannerman, Davos looked on with worry. He did not understand the way of Lords, but he could sense that this meeting had gone poorly. At least Stannis said the words of fealty right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we see things from Davos' POV. He's going to be one of two primary PoV characters throughout this series. I was tempted to do everything from Stannis' perspective but I found Davos to be more interesting, as he has a less biased viewpoint and isn't treated with as much deference by the rest of the cast.


	4. A Northman Goes South

His scouts saw them coming half a day’s march off.

Ned’s army marched South, all weary but with light hearts. Stormlander holdings they passed bore them news from abroad, and most of the news was good. King’s Landing had been taken without issue. Aerys was dead, killed by his own Kingsguard. Tywin had fought and defeated the Tyrells for them. Communication to Storm’s End had finally opened up and both Stannis and Renly had been confirmed to be among the living. Ned had sent the greater part of his host back to King’s Landing under the leadership of Galbart Glover.

Many of the stormlords they had passed had sent envoys to accompany them, eager to be the first of their peers to swear fealty to their new King and Lord. Some of them had declared for Robert in the war, some had declared for Rhaegar, but now both of those men were dead and the war had all but ended. Ned hoped that Stannis was getting good advice about who to trust. Ned hoped that Tywin could be trusted.

In any case, they would have an answer to that question soon enough. Lord Tywin and the King were just a bit farther up the Kingsroad, heading back towards King’s Landing.

The two armies met at midday, and Ned rode up to meet them accompanied by Howland Reed, Roose Bolton, Lyn Corbray, Greatjon Umber, and a dozen other lords and knights. Keeping the stormlanders away from the meeting had been a delicate business, but necessary. There were enough moving parts to this meeting already without a dozen eager stormlords confusing things. The delegation from the Lannister host featured Stannis, a ragtag assemblage of what knights he had, Lord Tywin, and several of his most prominent bannermen. Mace Tyrell and a few other Lords of the reach rode behind, dishevelled, bruised, but still proud.

Stannis was a wreck of a man. Gaunt and tall, he wavered upon his horse like a great sail in the wind. The man who had become King. But what sort of man? The king’s brow was tight and lined like a man twice his age. His mouth was frozen as a scowl. Robert had possessed a gift for making friends from enemies. Would Stannis be able to build upon is brother’s work?

By contrast, Tywin looked as though they had come upon him partway through a refreshing trip by the sea. Polished armor, trimmed beard, and a stern but approachable face… if appearances made a king, Tywin would have been twice as royal as his dour companion. But that was to be expected, considering their service. Not everyone had fought the same war, Ned thought glumly. 

“Lord Eddard Stark.” Stannis’ voice rang out harshly before they had even stopped riding. “Your rescue appears to have been somewhat late.”

“Indeed, your Grace.” Ned stated. He had been ready to immediately dismount and take the knee, but Stannis had to be allowed to determine the flow of the conversation. “We came as quickly as we could, but I am grateful that our haste was needless.” He nodded slightly to Lord Tywin before turning back to the King. “Your kingdom is secure, my Lord. The Vale, the North, and the Riverlands have all declared for you, King’s Landing is open to you, and all of Rhaegar’s family has been accounted for.”

“I am aware.” Stannis stated. “The ravens have flown to me as well. And what of Lyanna, your sister?” 

Ned did not reply for a moment. He looked first to Lord Umber, and then to Lord Tywin in confusion. “I have heard nothing of her.” He replied. “They say that Rhaegar took her South, to Dorne, but I...” He faltered. “Truthfully I do not know whether she lives or dies. I half expected Rhaegar to try and use her as a hostage.”

Stannis nodded. “Lord Lannister has been speaking much of marriage arrangements. Nothing has been decided yet, however, there is still an agreement standing between Stark and Baratheon.”

“Your Grace...” Ned frowned. “That marriage agreement was between my father and yours. You are not your brother, and my sister...” His sister had hated Robert, and even if she was alive Lyanna would hardly be a strong candidate for Stannis’ consort. “My sister’s state is yet in doubt.”

“Yes, well...” Stannis’ face contorted in a rictus of annoyance. “It falls to me to fulfill Robert’s responsibilities, and I intend to follow through on all of the duty I have inherited.” Ned suppressed a frown. Was that how Stannis viewed the crown? An annoying responsibility left to him by his elder brother?

“Another matter to address at King’s Landing.” Tywin interjected. “My knights have yet to find her...” Ned felt his heartbeat quicken. “...and so the matter is moot.”

“I would be interested in leading a search of my own,” Ned stated hurriedly. “She is of great importance to me personally...” Father, brother, and Robert too, they were all gone now. If she was alive, if she could be saved...

Tywin’s frown deepened. “You are a Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. There are more important things for you to be doing.”

“Lord Eddard has a duty at King’s Landing.” Stannis growled, and Ned was not certain who it was that Stannis was growling at. “He has a duty to his sister. A duty to me. We are, all of us, overflowing with duty. ” Stannis turned to Ned. “Why should this duty be so paramount to you?”

“Your grace, I was one of the first to declare for your brother. You have my support unquestioningly. I shall swear fealty to you here and now, and after that there will be no need for me at King’s Landing.” He paused. A great many discussions of import would be had there. In truth he would be loathe to miss those meetings, and yet... “The North does not concern itself with Southern affairs, except as they relate to your Grace; I have no concessions to ask for and in all matters of advice or appointments, I defer to Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie, whose wisdom I should rely upon in any case. Meanwhile, while the match between you and Lyanna should likely not occur even if she lives, the Lady is the last remaining member of my family. I would do everything in my power to see her safely returned.”

“Do you suggest that my efforts are insufficient?” Tywin raised an eyebrow.

Ned frowned. Other take the man and his posturing. His father, his brother, Robert and perhaps Lyanna too. All gone and all anyone wanted to do was argue and politic. “I am sure that your men are capable.” Ned managed. “However, I have with me Howland Reed, one of the greatest trackers in the seven kingdoms, and besides that we Northerners are more used to travelling quickly over long distances. Our efforts will be no meager contribution.”

Stannis scowled. “Then go. This whole bloody war started with her, we might as well find out what happened to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stannis is younger here, but he has already developed that wonderful talent of saying the absolute worst thing to the absolute worst people. As you can guess, Tywin is not terribly pleased with his performance here.


	5. Seeing Red

Grandmaester Pycelle cleared his throat. “As you know, the Maesters serve the lords of the land, but we do not partake in… political endeavors. I served Aerys, but I will serve you just as faithfully as I served him. I have no oath to make to you, King Stannis, except as a humble Maester of the citadel might. My knowledge, my skill with ravencraft, the potions and poisons and whatever else I possess is at your disposal.”

Stannis nodded. “Your service is commended. Rise.” The Grandmaester had been just another in the hundreds of men who had come before Stannis to kneel. The king had scarcely moved from the Iron Throne since a few hours after he first arrived. Lord Arryn had been in and out all day, seemingly more than happy to let Stannis take over the drudgery of running that aspect of the kingdom. Tywin had been busy with ordering his troops, sending some home and sending others to occupy strategic locations in the Crownlands. Mace Tyrell had taken up residence in a house in the city and had been tasked with bringing food up the Gold Road to King’s Landing. Everyone of importance had been given a task. Davos had been given none, and so he waited by the King’s side until such time as he would be given a task.

Lord Arryn entered the door, and Stannis acknowledged that he might come forward. “Men must make their oaths at another time,” Stannis stated to a courtier. “I have other duties to attend to. Everyone except Lord Arryn, leave. Lord Lannister should be here soon enough. Let him in when he comes.” Davos and the other Stormlander knights made for the door, but Stannis bade them stay with his hand. “I have no Kingsguard. You men were loyal through the siege, you’ll serve as my guard for now.”

Davos wondered what Stannis expected him to be able to do in the event of a fight breaking out. Or maybe the man merely wanted to have some familiar faces in the room.

As Lord Arryn came forward, Davos got his first look at the man who had organized Robert’s Rebellion. The age of the man was what most surprised Davos. He had known that Lord Arryn was old, but in hearing of the conquests the Lord had made, he had pictured a more vital, agile man. Arryn was ugly, missing most of his teeth and balding heavily. His armor was plain and practical, and his pace was slow. Still, he seemed more at ease in the throne room than anyone else Davos had seen so far. He bowed gingerly before the iron throne.

Stannis loomed over him, a giant of a man on a giant throne, deepset eyes glaring out from underneath a tortured brow. “I trust that all is well in the city?”

Arryn cleared his throat. “Indeed, Your Grace. All your brother’s enemies in the Crownlands are swiftly becoming your friends. Those who resist will be persuaded soon enough, by words or by swords, whichever is called for.” He paused. “However, as you know, the kingdom is in disarray, It may prove difficult at the current juncture to gather all the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Stark said that he would support whatever you said, Tully is indisposed with a wound, and the loyalty of the Tyrells and the Martells is still uncertain. I’ve sent for Lannister. You, he, and I will have to be sufficient.”

“Very good,” Arryn stated calmly. “Is there anything with which I can help you in the meantime, your Grace?”

Stannis sighed. “Well, I can offer you the position of Hand now, I suppose. That, at least, is not something that I intend to get Tywin’s input on.”

Arryn bowed deeply. “I am honored.”

“You are needed.” Stannis stated. “I do not have any particular affection for you, as my brother did, but the alliance that holds this realm together is your doing, not mine. Tywin is the only other with the inclination for the job, and he is a latecomer to the rebellion who seeks his own good before the realm.”

“I obviously do not disagree with your decision. However, if I may be frank, your Grace?”

“What good is a Hand that can’t trust his King with criticism?”

“Tywin Lannister is a man of unlimited ambition, and you are right to be cautious of that. However, we cannot risk alienating him. He is the most powerful of your vassals, and we need his support.” Arryn’s tone had shifted completely. Where a kindly old man had stood moments ago, now a proud Lord of the seven kingdoms stood.

“We won the rebellion without him.”

“Aye, and Aerys lost the rebellion without him. It does us no good if Tywin offers some token gesture of support and solidarity. We need him to run to our aid, not walk. If the Reach rebels again, we need the Westerlands to respond with forty thousand swords.”

“His avarice is unlimited, Lord Arryn. Four weeks I rode with his host, and every word I shared with the man was a fencing match; some mean attempt at advancing his own dynasty. He would see himself rewarded more richly than all the other Lords of the Seven kingdoms when of all of them he bled the least.”

“Your brother, Eddard, and I started the rebellion to save ourselves, to save the realm, and to see Aerys and Rhaegar brought to justice. Eddard and I have already gotten everything that we wanted from the war. Our armies are yours, but you cannot rule with our support alone. You will be handing out favors to many over the next few days. Do not squander them. Spend them to secure the realm and build goodwill with your vassals. Tywin is only one vassal, but he is a key one.”

Stannis’ jaw flexed uncomfortably. He was ill-suited to this sort of politicking, Davos could see. All honest men were. “I’m already insisting that you and he both be present for these next discussions. That is more honor than I showed to Hoster Tully.”

Arryn smiled warmly again. “That is indeed a start. Now shall we speak of less important things? As to candidates for the position of Master of Laws...”

Tywin Lannister made his entrance within the hour, resplendent in red and gold, his armor plated with a small fortune. He moved with the vibrant energy of a man just past his prime in life, his cold eyes taking in everything at once. He walked to the foot of the Iron Throne and bowed stiffly.

“Your Grace, we have many important matters to discuss. Matters that we have put off for too long. You must name a Hand, you must name a wife, and you must decide the fate of Rhaegar’s spawn.” Tywin’s lip turned up in a grimace. “There’s also the small matter of my son, who I visited earlier today in his cell.”

Davos swallowed. Even a boy from Flea Bottom could see that each of those decisions would be fraught with peril. To make them all at once, so hurriedly… the next hour could make or break the seven kingdoms. But Davos was not surprised, either. Tywin had been hounding him on the first three points since before they had left Storm’s End. Arryn had been less insistent, but he had still brought up all of those issues. The king had pushed them both off, but now it seemed he would have to make a final decision.

“You vastly undersell the litany of tasks set before us.” Stannis stated. “That snake Varys has disappeared, and even now may be working against me in secret. We need to organize the siege of Dragonstone as soon as possible, and secure the loyalty of the Dornish. There are a thousand and one disputes between my subjects to settle. The Florents expected to be named as Lords of the Reach and we need to send a delegation to Dorne.”

“Perhaps we should start with the easiest of matters,” Arryn said with a diplomatic smile. “The Martells have no reason to quarrel with us. While it was regrettable that they sided with Aerys, they could hardly have done otherwise, so long as he held their sister. We hold her now, and if we treat Elia kindly and send a polite, but forceful delegation, there is no reason for them not to bend the knee.”

“Other than the fact that they share blood with the dragons, of course.” Tywin intoned darkly.

Arryn’s eyes closed in annoyance for a moment before nodding. “Much does depend on the fate of those children.”

“We need to ensure that these children pose no threat to the future of the realm.” Tywin stated. “I know your Grace objects to harsher measures, but we need to consider all of the options.”

“Which harsher measures are those?” Stannis growled. “Would you have me arrange for the babes to see a headsman? Or should I place them upon a pike wholesale, for their many deeds of treachery against the realm?”

“Any claimant to the throne not in your line is a direct threat to the realm,” Tywin retorted. “We killed their father, we killed their grandfather, but until the whole line is extinguished it is all for naught. You can’t foster them away, as you would a bastard, or marry them into your subjects’ houses. Their claim to the throne is too strong, and any one who fosters them would have a powerful weapon to use against you or your descendants. You can’t send them to the Wall or to the Septa, they’re too young for such things and if they didn’t voluntarily enter those orders their supporters will still be able to use them. You cannot keep them in the Red Keep, that would practically invite a coup.” Tywin paused for effect. “To be a king is to make hard decisions, your Grace, and the children are dangerous. The realm should not endure a second rebellion for the sake of a child’s innocence.”

Davos shuffled. He could think of no reason that could justify the death of an child, royal or not. These were babes barely off of the teat! But Stannis seemed to be considering the words of Tywin carefully. Davos looked at Stannis, his mind whirling. Could the man consider such a thing? Fair he had called Stannis, surely such a perverse thing would be…

“I can and will stomach anything for the sake of the realm.” Stannis stated slowly. “Ten thousand lives for one? An easy decision. I will rule this kingdom rightly even if I have to damn myself to do it.” Stannis’ lip turned up in a snarl. “But as the king, I do not have that luxury. If I kill these children, I damn not only myself, but all the men sworn to me and all the persons descended from me.”

Davos could barely hear Tywin’s reply. “There is no reason why you should be blamed for the matter, Your Grace.”

Davos looked to the men beside him. If Stannis heeded this council, Davos and all the other knights were now conspirators.

“So what, we blame it on the Spider? That would be enough to to give some doubt.” Stannis allowed. “Perhaps enough to stave off open rebellion. But every fool in the Seven Kingdoms would know the truth.”

“They would know, too, that you are strong.”

“Is this the council you gave to Aerys?”

Arryn coughed. “Since your Grace finds the idea unpalatable, there is another option. The children can be fostered here, in King’s Landing. Tywin is right to fear that Targaryen loyalists could try and use them, so we will have to confine them and restrict access to them. Fortunately, the Red Keep has a structure that is designed for this exact purpose. The Maidenvault was constructed to hold the siblings of Baleor the Blessed, and now it will contain Rhaegar’s children, and possibly his siblings if they are recovered. They will grow up in luxury, completely detached from the Seven Kingdoms. The Maidenvault has but one entrance and exit, and one knight loyal to you can be locked in with the children at all times, ready to end them in the event of an attempted coup. When they are old enough, they can be sent to the Citadel, the Wall, or the Septs at their own choice. If you have a male heir in a timely manner, Princess Rhaenys could even be married into your family line, to fully cement your dynasty upon the throne. In such an instance your grandchildren would have an even stronger claim to the throne than Viserys would, should escape our grasp.”

Davos let out a breath he did not realize that he had been holding, grateful for Arryn’s intervention. He caught a glimpse of the old man’s eyes, and a moment of understanding passed between them. The falcon had laid a trap for the lion. Tywin and Stannis had been arguing all up the Kingsroad, and Arryn had used that to place himself as the moderate and more agreeable option. Jon Arryn was perhaps a kinder man than Tywin, but he had timed his suggestion with no motivation other than pure cunning. Nonetheless, Davos thanked the Father that no children were to be murdered this day.

Stannis nodded thoughtfully. “They’ll be little more than prisoners, but if Baelor confined his sisters there I see no reason why I can’t confine these dragonspawn.” He looked to Tywin. “Would this satisfy you, Lord Tywin? To hold them in the Maidenvault for the near future?”

Tywin grimaced. “It is dangerous. The Spider is still at large, and there are many besides him who would seek to free them. If at any point in the next decade we fail in vigilance, it could mean ruin for the whole realm.”

Arryn raised an eyebrow. “There are advantages as well.”

“Yes, yes, we all see that. Anyone seeking to use Viserys will have a hard time of it, if we hold Aegon. It also makes the Dornish more agreeable to us, for however little that is worth.”

“It seems we are in agreement then?” Arryn’s smiled indulgently. “Shall we speak of marriage, your Grace?”

Tywin moved to speak but Stannis interrupted him. “I believe Tywin’s position on the subject is well-known enough. I’ve heard enough poetry about his daughter’s beauty to drown me as thoroughly as the Reynes.”

“She is the most eligible available female in the seven kingdoms,” Jon Arryn intoned, a hint of exasperation entering his voice. “She should not be disregarded.”

“She’s a leash to make sure that the Lannisters are tied to the throne.” Stannis grumbled.

A moment of silence passed, each of the three men eyeing each other warily. Davos sensed that Stannis had crossed a line, and that the two older men were judging how to redraw the terms of engagement. 

Tywin was the man to finally break the silence. “The Targaryens did not marry into the houses of their Lords, unless they had no choice. This made your brother’s claim stronger than it ought to have been, and the Targaryens had few alliances to call upon in their time of need. If the realm is to be strong, you must marry well. My house is the most stable, powerful, and loyal of your subjects, and a marriage between us will tie our houses together for generations to come. I wish for my daughter to be queen, true, but that does not make her the wrong choice.”

“And what of Lyanna?” Stannis raised an eyebrow. “Cersei could have the Maiden’s own beauty, the virtue of Baelor the Blessed, and a host of fire-breathing dragons to go with her, and none of that would change the fact that I am already pledged to Lyanna Stark.”

“Agreements can be broken as easily as they are made, your Grace.” Tywin stated coolly. “Eddard said that Jon could speak for him, and the betrothal is a matter between him and you, no one else. Jon can free you from the bond your father made and the position becomes moot.” Tywin looked to Jon, who nodded in reply. “And there your have it. Unless you have some special affection for the woman?”

Stannis sneared. “Do not confuse me for my brother, Lord Lannister. Robert would fight a war for a woman while whoring his way through every den in the Seven Kingdoms. I have neither such sentiments nor such appetites. Lyanna is no one to me, except a promise that must be kept. With Lord Arryn’s blessing, I will marry the Westerlands and consider the matter settled.”

“And her brother?” Tywin questioned. “Are you going to marry my daughter and execute my son?”

“I am going to give him a fair trial in the light of the Seven.”

Lord Arryn replied before Tywin could. “A good notion, and if you think of it, I am sure you will agree, Lord Tywin. Your son broke his oaths, but…”

“We all broke oaths.” Tywin interjected.

“As you say, we all broke oaths.” Jon continued. “Aerys’ atrocities were incomparable, and your son, sacred though his oaths were, was exposed to the worst of them. It will be good, I think, for everyone to hear how great the extent of those horrors was. It will silence any who hold grudges against your son, as well as reminding everyone why this rebellion was started in the first place.”

“An innocent man has nothing to fear from a trial, Lord Lannister.” Stannis stated.

Tywin locked eyes with Stannis for a pregnant moment before nodding. “Yes. Of course. I look forward to seeing my son’s innocence borne out in a fair trial before the Seven. Now with your Grace’s permission, there are things that I must attend to.” Stannis nodded and Tywin abruptly left.

“You and he, it seems, will have difficulty getting along.” Jon noted, a pained smile playing on his lips.

“Perhaps that is a good omen. The last king who he was friends with did not fare so well.”

Jon’s lips pursed slightly. “I feel as though we repeat our conversation from earlier.”

“I have every intention of being generous with the man, but I will not lie to him. I see his machinations for what they are and will call them as such.”

Jon stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Tywin does not see the world the same as you. He sees things in terms of leverage. He sees conversation as warfare, a place where deceit and misdirection are key weapons. He is ruthless and expects others to be the same to him.”

Stannis’ eyes narrowed. “And what, am I some sweet summer child, too naive for politics?”

“No.” Jon’s voice was gentle, guiding. “No, you both expect betrayal, the difference is that… Well, he elevates Gregor Clegane, and you elevated Davos Seaworth.” 

Davos coughed, surprised to hear his own name.

“Seaworth did me a great service.”

“Indeed, but you brought him here to King’s Landing with you. You let him attend this meeting. In fact, all the men who are standing here with us are survivors of the siege.”

“If they were going to betray me, they had plenty of chances.”

Jon smiled widely now. “Precisely. You are certain that these are men like you, serious and dutiful, and so you trust them and give them important tasks.”

“What, should I give responsibility to untrustworthy briggands?”

“What if a briggand was exactly what you needed? Gregor Clegane, is by all counts the worst sort of person imaginable. But he is also an incredible engine of war, Your Grace, and he gives pause to Tywin’s enemies. Tywin could have brought him to heel, but then he would be fighting the Mountain that Rides, instead of having him as a weapon. Tywin relies upon people acting selfishly, and so he picks people who have simple wants.”

“And may the Others take him.” Stannis retorted. “The realm deserves good men, and not beasts and monsters. If I must use Tywin to keep the realm secure I will, but I will not become him. Or would you have had me kill those children?“

“No.” Jon’s answer was curt and definite. “Not at this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was spoiled by the tags, but its a section I like. Dealing with Rhaegar's kids isn't an easy problem. On the one hand, what's the lives of a couple of kids compared with potentially thousands of lives later on in a war? On the other hand, who's to say that by killing the kids you're actually saving any lives? And isn't it worse for the blood to be directly on your hands, and not the hands of your enemies?
> 
> As cruel a person as we know Tywin to be in his person life, he's not being crazy here. It's a real option that needs to be considered, and even Jon Arryn isn't willing to shut Tywin's argument down completely.
> 
> Then too, Jon is sort of manipulating Stannis here, allowing the argument between him and Tywin to drag on so that he can swoop in with an alternative. If he'd led the discussion with his suggestion, it might not have been received so well.


	6. All Men Must Serve

“Ser Seaworth, The King has sent for you.” The royal messenger’s eyes darted around uneasily. In the dim light of the setting sun, the street upon which Davos lived must have seemed quite nefarious to the boy. Davos' house was no ramshackle Flea Bottom hovel; it was the house of a humble but prosperous tradesman, but the boy had probably grow up in a grand tower with servants waiting on his every whim. Davos smiled indulgently.

“Tell the King that I will come as quickly as possible.” The messenger nodded and mounted his horse to ride towards the capital. Davos closed the door and looked to his wife, sitting in her chair across the room. He had met her when she was scarcely a woman, and he less than a man, and they had been with each other since. She had been pretty enough once, but now she was very plain indeed, their many children having taken a toll upon her. But to him she was still the same girl of sixteen. They had just been sitting down to a cup of fine whiskey when the servant had come. He tilted his head in apology. “Stannis is calling me.”

She smiled sadly, but nodded. “The King keeps late hours and so must you.”

“Aye.” Davos stated. “But I’m only leaving for the Tower of the Hand, dear, not for Braavos. I’ll be back before morning.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“I will put the children to bed. Wake me when you get back.”

“Always.” Davos smiled, shrugged into his heavy naval coat and stepped out into the brisk air.

Davos had on occasion said that King’s Landing was a cheap whore. Sick, barely washed, and open to anything if the coin was good. Still, she was an old friend, and though the wind brought nothing but foul air, he smiled. It was good to put his boots to the gravel of King’s Landing again.

By the time he arrived at the Tower of the Hand, the city had grown dark indeed, and the wind cut away at him as though he were on the crow’s nest of a ship. Stannis was in Jon’s solar, bent over a table with Jon, discussing something in low tones. There were five others in the room, quietly speaking amidst themselves. Davos recognized Barristan Selmy, the newly-appointed Commander of the Kingsguard, Grandmaester Pycelle, who had sworn to Stannis on the previous day, and Old Lord Eldon Estermont, who had joined them on the way up to King’s Landing. The others were strangers. A tall, hard-faced man in a purple cloak stood towards the back, looking at everyone with suspicious eyes. Lord Estermont was speaking quietly with a big-eared man who wore an expensive ermine doublet.

These were all lords, or the sons of lords. To what end had he been called?

“It is good that you have all come promptly,” Stannis’ harsh voice carried itself over the murmuring conversants. “As some of you know, I have yet to name who will sit upon my Small Council.”

Davos’ eyes went wide. The Small Council formed the most trusted of the King’s advisors. To be included in such a position… He shook his head. He would not protest. No doubt the king knew his business. Still, Davos felt that he was not the only one conscious of the fact that this honor was too heavy for him. He felt the eyes of the the man in the ermine doublet.

“Officially, I will be offering all of these positions tomorrow, but I desire your answers now so that I might offer them to others if you refuse. The roles are as follows: Lord Eldon Estermont, you will serve as my Master of Coin. Ser Imry Florent, you will act as Master of Laws. Ser Davos Seaworth, Master of Whisperers, and Lord Jason Mallister, Master of Ships.” Stannis’s voice had all the gravity of a man reciting the inventory of a shipment from Ibben. “Grandmaester Pycelle will keep his position. Ser Barristan Selmy has consented to be made Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and Lord Jon Arryn will be my Hand. What say all you?”

The man in the ermine doublet stepped forward, bowing gallantly and smiling wolfishly. “House Florent is honored to serve, your Grace. I swear that I will bring order and justice to this kingdom, if that is the task for me. Thieves and smugglers will fear my name, and yours.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Stannis’ gladness did not carry into his voice.

The dour knight at the back shouldered forward, dropping to one knee. “For nigh on six hundred years, we Mallisters have defended the Riverlands against pirates, raiders, and enemies of the realm. To now go on the offensive?” Jason Mallister raised his head, eyes glittering. “The seas will know who is King.”

The smallest of smiles touched the corner of Stannis’ mouth. “You will not lack for work. Your first task will be raising a fleet to take Dragonstone from the Targaryens, and after that, the Stepstones from the pirates, and to bring the Ironborn to heel if they become unruly.”

Jason Mallister smiled. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Rise, Lord Jason.”

Eldon’s head bowed only slightly. “I will serve, of course, as long as Your Grace requires.” Stannis acknowledged him with a nod. The old man was Stannis’ mother’s brother. He was not so interested in projecting an image as these others.

All eyes turned to Davos. “Your Grace...” he began, uncertain of what he meant to say. The position would be dangerous beyond words, and he would wield power like he had never imagined. It was too high, too heady for a simple boy from Flea Bottom. How did one come to terms with the idea that they might have a part in running an entire empire? A year ago he had been a simple smuggler; if he took this post, the Sealord of Braavos would know his name. “You honor me greatly, more than I feel I deserve,” he managed eventually. “I will serve however you need me.”

“I do not honor you.” Stannis said quietly. “I curse you. No man in Westeros will love you. You are to be my Whisperer. They called the last man to hold your seat ‘The Spider’ and he was a villain of the worst description. I need to hunt him, Davos, and for that I need a villain of my own. He will try and kill you, I have no doubt, so do not take this task upon yourself lightly.”

Davos’ face hardened. Risk and danger were old friends to him. The circumstances changed, but the essence of the job never did. That seemed to be true even now. Still, Stannis’ question had been one of ability. Could he match wits with a spymaster who had been a legend even before he came to Westeros? Davos though back to the crunch of the gravel under his boots, the stench in his nostrils as he had walked to the tower. In another city, in another time, perhaps Davos would fear Varys. But the Spider had merely paid to do business with the whore that was King’s Landing. Davos had been raised by her. 

“I will be whatever my King requires me to be.” He bowed deeply and clutched his finger bones about his neck. “I have been a villain before now, so I can be again.”

***

“Y’know, I was surprised to hear from you. Then I realized that I was rich.” Pointy walked a pair of silver stags between his fingers. “Of course all me old friends is coming out of the woodwork now.”

“Aye,” Said Davos. He got the joke, but as with most of Pointy’s humor, it was not particularly funny. “Stannis paid you well.”

They had met at the Leaky Nagel, a long low building just outside of the docks where every table was hidden from the view of others, either by supporting beams, walls, or hung draperies. Light, off-key music filled the air and the lighting was poor. Davos supposed that some honest sailors frequented the establishment, but he had never met any. Then again, the difference between a sailor and a pirate was rarely more than two weeks of rum rations.

Pointy huffed. “The pay could be better. Comparing it with what you got it’s nothin. But normally you have to serve ten namedays with the Stormguard afore they give you your stag, and he gave everyone from the siege at least double that. I’ve been thinking about how I’m gonna spend mine. Maybe get a high-class prostitute! Or a set of quality rings.”

“See if you can buy yourself a quartermaster’s position on a ship,” Davos suggested helpfully. “It’s the same job you do already, but the pay is better, and once you have a successful voyage under your belt, you won’t lack for work”

“Feck that.” Pointy smiled. “If the Seven had meant for me to be on the sea, I’d have gills like a Sisterman.”

“What are you doing then, working for Roony again?”

“Sure. Simple work, simple pay, but for now it keeps my belly full. And Roony pays on time, you know?”

Davos did know. Red Jon Roony had been running his shop in Flea Bottom since Davos was a boy, and the man had a reputation for being equal parts fierce and fair. He was an evil man, but the sort to whom you could trust your life. In a job like smuggling, trust was better than gold, half the time, and Roony had been one of the rich ones.

“I want to talk to Roony.”

A massive, ear-to-ear smile split Pointy’s face. “Oh, oh! I knew it! See if I didn’t tell you!” Pointy leaned in, his face hungry. “What game are you playing?”

“Our King has given me work.” Davos stated, folding his hands. “I’m to look for some things he’s misplaced.”

“You’re taking over the Spider’s work.” Pointy breathed. Most figures of the Red Keep were not of much interest to the smugglers of King’s Landing. But every man knew of the Spider. “You’re the King’s new bloody Spider!”

Davos smiled, reached into his pouch, and placed a gold dragon on the table. Pointy’s eyes practically fell out of his head. “That’s gold, Davos. Is that...” 

“It’s for Roony. I need people I can trust, and Roony is a sound man. If he or one of his folks hears something that interests me, well…” Davos tapped the dragon with the index finger of his good hand. “I know where to get more of these.”

“You know that Roony won’t tell you shit about his clients, yeah?”

“He can tell me who is trying to hire him. He can tell me who’s trying to hire his suppliers. And I can pay better than they can.”

Pointy nodded hungrily. “And if an honest tradesman like myself hears something?”

Davos chuckled. “You want to cut Roony out of profit while you’re working with him? But no. I’m only dealing with people at the top. Individual street runners like yourself is too much for me to manage. The gold is to keep Roony quiet, and to keep him loyal. Nobody else needs to know he’s on the take from me. Anybody shows up asking for information on me, I’ll double their price. Anybody starts hearing stuff I told Roony, or Roony’s information starts coming up bad? I stop doing business with him. If I know he’s a rat? Then I talk to the Master of Laws about finding work for the ‘cloaks.”

Pointy swallowed. “What about-” his sentence was cut off as Davos plunked a stack of five stags onto the table.

“The stags are for you. I need someone telling me who Roony is talking to, or if there’s anything funny going on.” Davos spread his hands. “Just in case, you know. I trust Roony, but somebody could get to him.”

Pointy’s hand darted out and snagged the coins, biting one of them and then smiling with the silver still between his teeth. “Seems fair, yeah?”

Davos smiled. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.” Pointy was a rat, Davos knew, but he needed a rat in Roony’s organization. Roony was as sound as they came, but even sound men could break under pressure. There was a good chance Pointy would turn out to be useless, but for five stags, Davos could afford him. That was a strange thought, that he could afford five stags. His first boat had cost less than that.

A meditative look came over Pointy’s features. “You’re rolling big now, aren’t you? You’re not just paying me and Roony, you’ll be looking into all the other bosses. Lom and Skarit and the Maid Massey an all them. Gor! You’re a proper big boss criminal!”

Davos said nothing. He was also hitting up Missy Carts, the washerwoman who worked the Street of Silk, Barkeep Lon Loon, who had been friends with his wife’s sister, Dirty Tom, an infamously corrupt taxman, Tingely, a Madame whose house catered to teamsters, and many, many others. He would have a thousand eyes if he had one, and a ear in every den. Outside of King’s Landing things would be harder, but he knew people in every port in Westeros. Sitting at this table with Pointy, it was not hard to imagine that he was paying the man for news about changing tarrifs in White Harbor. 

Davos smiled. The stakes changed, but the game never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spymaster Davos!
> 
> Although I plotted out this entire story in one go, this was an element of the plot that evaded me. I knew that I wanted Davos as a perspective character, but I wasn't quite sure how to shoehorn him into all of these political scenarios. What business does Davos Seaworth have talking to Jaime and Lyanna and others?
> 
> Its pretty much death to a fanfiction when you have narratively important characters standing around *not doing anything* while the plot happens around them. I really didn't want Davos in that position, but I couldn't think what role he actually played.
> 
> It was seriously befuddling me.
> 
> Then, as I was doing some of the more drudging work, I realized that Stannis was going to have a heck of a time filling Varys' shoes. Who has the skillset Stannis needs, and has earned his trust? When the answer finally came to me, it hit me like a brick in the face. OBVIOUSLY Davos. The position doesn't require one of lordly birth, as shown with Varys. Davos is one of the world's most successful and famous criminals. And it fit so well with the story too. Now Davos had a clear role to play.


	7. Tower of Broken Promises

The tower was unimpressive by any standard.

A lonely turret positioned in the Prince’s Pass, unadorned and to all appearances abandoned. Perhaps the Dornish had set it up to watch for Targaryen invasion, once, or perhaps some minor knight had vacated it for better holdings. Either way, there were hundreds of towers like it in these mountains. Nothing attached any significance to this one.

Except that Howland Reed had assured Ned that the tower held his sister, Lyanna.

The remoteness of the tower reassured Ned in many ways. He had encountered several of Tywin’s knights in his search for Lyanna, and none of them had been looking for a place like this. He did not know what purposes Tywin had in looking for Lyanna, but Ned could not trust them with this. Not with his sister. He had run into one of them, an Amory Lorch. Ned had executed bandits more savory than that man. If this tower was so remote… perhaps no one had found her yet. Or perhaps this tower was but a dead end.

But Howland Reed had assured him that his sister was here, and that she was alive.

Every step Ned made brought him closer. Last year Ned had four living family members, and a friend he called brother. Now he had two. One was back home, and another was in this tower. Lyanna, who he had given up for lost, was alive. Alive, and imprisoned. Perhaps not quite well. Ned patted the side of his horse’s neck. They had to hurry. He was grateful that his mission to rescue Stannis had brought him south so quickly; another month may have been too late. Another month and he might only be bringing back a corpse.

Howland Reed, Wiliam Dustin, Martyn Cassel, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, and Mark Ryswell rode with him. All stout men who had fought loyally in the war, along with a score of loyal Northmen levies. Ned would have preferred to have an army with him, but the mountains of Dorne ate armies alive, and a large force could not move quickly here in any case.

They had come now to a narrow, winding path up the side of a mountain. It was the only approach to the tower, and Ned felt his eyes climbing towards it, expecting arrows or boiling oil or even wildfyre. He shuddered involuntarily, seeing a still-fresh corpse stuck on a rock just below them.

Theo Wull noticed his discomfort and chuckled. “It’s a good sign, Lord Ned.”

They came to a ramshackle stable of sorts, past which the path became narrow and even more uneven. Great heavy warhorses like the ones they were riding would not be safe to ride further. They stood a dozen feet below the base of the tower, and sixty feet of winding road. Dry gravel crunched under their feet as they dismounted.

“Damned desolate place!” Ethan exclaimed. “And no sign of the enemy!”

Willam winced. “What, are you inviting them to ambush us? This whole trip has always been cursed, there’s no reason to make it worse.”

“Still,” Theo added. “It’s mighty strange that we have not seen anything of them, beyond that corpse back there.”

“There are fresh hoofprints all around.” Ned stated quietly. “They’ve been busy here.”

Willam nodded. “Theo Wull is too much a Northman to track in this dusty gravel.”

Theo Wull laughed. His people were from the extreme northern end of the world, just south of the Gift. “Ha! Then we’d best be glad that you’re here! The Crannogman and young Lord Stark are half southern, so I suppose we should be thankful for them as well.”

“Well, either way, we’ll see them soon enough.” Ethan smiled infectiously. “Shall I lead the charge, milord?”

“Howland?” Ned questioned.

The tiny little man fiddled with a charm about his neck. “They’re on the path just ahead, at the narrowest point. They’re waiting there, two abreast, just beneath the tower.”

“Knights?”

Howland frowned. “I think so. They have armor, I can hear it even over all of you lot.”

Ned grimaced. He could see the path in his mind’s eye. The knights, whoever they were, had chosen their position expertly. They were just around a small corner, right near to the wall. The levies would get slaughtered trying to approach that position, and using a crossbow properly at that distance would be impossible. If either group had pikes, they would have the advantage, but Ned and his party had not brought that weapon with them. He sighed. Death. Always more death. “Right then. I will lead the way.”

Martyn Cassel shouldered his way in front of him. “Begging your pardon, milord, but no you won’t. Neither you nor any of these great lords. There’s no sense in wasting the blood of the men, but my blood comes cheaper than yours.”

Theo stepped in beside him. “Aye, and I’m but a Wull who’s half wildling.” He laughed. “Besides, I rather like the idea of a Wull being buried here, nearly at the ass-end of the world.”

Ethan laughed. “Want all the glory for yourself, eh?” He turned to Mark Ryswell. “Fight me for who gets the higher spot?”

“No.” Mark’s face was tight with focus.

Ned sighed. “Lead on, Martyn.”

They saw the Kingsguard when they rounded the bend. Three of them, white cloaks flowing in the mountain breeze. Ned had known that at least one of the kingsguard would be here, but all three? Rhaegar would have been better served had he brought these men with him to the Trident, Ned thought glumly. Their faces were grim, and they had swords drawn already.

“Eddard Stark, I presume?” the knight in the back spoke, his voice old, but still filled with thunderous power. “Jon Arryn always spoke highly of you.”

“Gerold Hightower.” Ned replied. “Since when do the Kingsguard keep girls locked in towers like a group of common brigands?”

“The Kingsguard is whatever the king orders it to be.”

“That king is dead. Stannis Baratheon is king.”

Gerold Hightower shrugged. “I swore no oath to him. You-”

He was interrupted by a scream from above. “Hightower, for once in your life, do a good thing and let my brother through.” Ned felt his heart drop in his chest. It was Lyanna’s voice, wet with tears and anguish. Ned could see the window from which Lyanna’s voice came, but he could not see her in it. Had they tied her down? Had they…

He frowned, dark anger building up behind his eyes as he turned back to the kingsguard. “I cannot turn aside.”

“And neither can we.” Gerold’s voice was cold, aloof.

“By the old gods’ horny roots,” Theo’s voice crowed out. “It must be true, you Southerners do bleed shite. Did yer king tell you to rape the maid too, to get her all warmed up for ‘im? Would it be a sign of yer honor, because it was done for your prince?” 

Gerold’s lip curled back in a snarl. “Hold your tongue, cur, you know nothing of duty.”

“In your hands it’s a cup of ass-piss.” Theo spat on the ground. 

“Honor is the only thing that separates us from the beasts, ser,” That was Ser Arthur Dayne, standing in the front. His words were strong, but his voice lacked Gerold’s conviction. Ned had known Arthur. The Daynes and the Starks had met at Harenhall, the greatest families of the First Men in the North and in the South. Brandon had kept up an affair with Arthur’s sister for some time.

Ned’s voice sounded strange to him, distant. “Arthur Dayne, what I would not give for a man of half your quality, in service to a lord with an ounce more wisdom than Rhaegar. You stood by while my father burned. You stood by while my brother, your friend, strangled himself. You have stood by as my sister was raped again and again and you call this honor? What honor does Rhaegar deserve, who nearly destroyed this kingdom with his wanton passion? Let me go in and hold my sister. Let me comfort her.”

“We swore oaths, Lord Stark.” Oswell Whent spoke for the first time.

“Swear new ones.” Ned pleaded. “Swear them to a good man this time. Bend the knee.”

“We are the Kingsguard. Our knees do not bend so easily.” 

Ned sighed. “Then you shall die.”

“I know that. I welcome it.” Arthur’s voice had gained an undercurrent of sadness. “I wish that I could be otherwise, Ned, but I am of the light. To serve is my nature.”

Lyanna screamed again. “No! Gods no! Have some sense, you fools!” Ned’s vision grew narrow and dark, but he felt a great calmness settle upon him. Cold filled his chest, made him feel lighter than air.

“Kill them.” He stated simply. “Kill them all. Let the last vestige of Rhaegar’s madness be washed away.”

Martyn and Theo rushed up the incline, swords drawn with the rest of Ned’s companions charging up behind him. The wall of the tower was on one side of them, a tottering cliff on the other. Martyn fell first, locking blades with Arthur only once before Dawn flicked out as fast as light and severed the good man’s head from his shoulders. Ethan Glover stepped over the man’s falling corpse and sent out strike after strike, exchanging blows carefully, warily keeping his distance with the knowledge of a practiced duelist.

Theo had simply laughed and charged forward, taking a savage blow to his shield-arm as he ploughed into Oswell Went. The Kingsguard was pushed back a few feet, but drew a dagger in his other hand and thrust it up into the big Northerner’s belly.

Theo just smiled, dropping his sword and grappling the other knight with his mailed fists. Oswell rammed his dagger into Theo’s side over and over. Moment my moment as they grappled, it was clear the big man’s strength was falling. “Cunt.” Theo hissed, his teeth clenched in a smile, and then he pulled them both off the side of the mountain.

Ethan’s sword went flying, and Dawn came crashing down, splitting Ethan’s cocky smile in two. Ned stepped up to face Dayne, locking the Valyrian steel of Ice when the starmetal edge of Dawn. Their blades parted and crashed together again, blue sparks flying out at each exchanged. Ned had trained with the best swordsmen of the Vale, exchanged blows with Robert Baratheon, and even bested his brother Brandon from time to time. Even so, he was barely holding his own. Lyanna, Lyanna, Lyanna… He had to save her. He and Lyanna would not join Robert and Father and Brother. Not yet. Ned felt a savage ferocity within his chest that he had not experienced before. A fierce and angry pride, a certainty that he would not die here. His blows redoubled in force, and the Knight of Starfall yielded a single step.

Arthur answered Ned with a stunning series of maneuvers, forcing him on the back foot. “You have the wolf in you after all.” The knight smiled sadly. “So now it truly begins.” 

“No, now it ends,” Ned replied back, nearly quiet. 

Arthur Dayne flowed forward, his sword seeming to ripple as he struck out with terrific force. Ned parried, but his arms screamed in pain even as he diverted the blow. Another blow came, faster than seemed possible, and Ned parried again. The cold in his chest flared and he scarcely felt the pain anymore. Even so, he could not give ground quickly enough. Every movement of Dayne’s was perfection, fluid and deadly. Four strikes, five, six… Ned felt Ice fall from his hands and he knew that the seventh strike would end him. He saw the white starmetal blade flying toward his face. 

The blade fell, clattering amidst the rock like dropped cutlery. Arthur stood, transfixed a moment, his eyes rolled back into his head, and then Arthur fell in a great heap, his white cloak flitting about him in the wind.

Ned swallowed. William Dustin was standing over Hightower, breathing heavily, a dented brass pot sitting on the ground a few feet away. Mark Ryswell was bleeding upon the ground in front of Ned. The man managed a weak smile. “For Lyanna, eh?” He whispered, and then he said no more for a while. Howland Reed walked up to Ned, his feet stumbling underneath him. The tiny man had done something, Ned knew. Arthur Dayne had not died of any natural cause. Whatever it was, Howland was not feeling well, leaning on Ned for support. No, Ned would let the strange man keep his secrets.

“Well, all things considered, that went better than I thought.” William Dustin stated. Ned put a hand on his shoulder.

“Men, if anyone is alive, keep them that way. I’m going up to see my sister.”

Ned walked up the last few steps to the door of the tower. There was no bar preventing entrance, and he walked through it and up the stairs as quickly as he could. He startled a female servant but brushed her aside. The rooms he passed were simple, crude dwellings. A room for grain, a cell for sleeping. A kitchen of sorts… The kingsguard had been living rough here. Lyanna had been living rough.

Finally, there at the top. A door, barred from the outside. Ned disbarred the door and was nearly immediately embraced as the door flew open.

“Lyanna,” He breathed. He had not seen his sister in over a year. She had been but five and ten when she left, a beautiful, wild girl just barely a woman. She seemed scarcely older now, except for.... “Oh, my dear Lyanna.” And then he cried. His little sister was with child. Rhaegar’s child. She cried with him a while.

“I always hoped you would come.” Lyanna said, her voice thick with tears. “I always hoped, but then, when you were here… All I wanted was for you to go away, to be safe.”

“We’re both safe now.”

“They… they did not tell me much. I know that Father and Brandon are gone. I know that… Rhaegar and Robert are gone too.”

“Many died in the rebellion.” Ned sighed. “Many good men.”

“Rhaegar was not a good man.” Lyanna hissed, breaking apart and sitting down, as though very tired. “Father and Brandon and Robert were all good men in their own ways, but Rhaegar was a beast.”

Ned sat down with her. “Aye, he was nearly as mad as his father, in his own way. You-”

“I thought Robert was the monster!” she burst out, her face full of rage. “I hated him for his whoring ways, and then I ran off with a married man!”

Ned’s blood ran cold. “You were willing?”

“Why should he have needed to kidnap me? You know what words I shared with father, and with you, about the match with Robert.”

He did know. She had cried then too, and screamed, and spent a whole night out riding. Ned clenched his teeth and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Lyanna...”

She looked down. “Say it. I know it.” She wept bitterly. “You were right. All of you were right. At first, I laughed to think of the ‘duty’ you had laid out for me, thinking what a fine trick I had played, getting such a better match than any Baratheon Lord. Laughing at how free I was, the Lady that chose her prince.” She spat. “He locked me away in a tower. The Tower of Joy, he called this place, and so it was for a few months, but then I asked to leave, and he would not let me. Then I asked him to let me be for a night, and he would not.” Her voice had become dull, angry. “I mocked duty and chased after freedom and I was locked in a tower and raped until I was got with child, then he discarded me like a spent candle.”

Foolish, foolish Lyanna. It was impossible to think, after these dark days had passed, that anyone had been so naive. “You were a foolish girl, but...”

“But what?” Lyanna laughed, tears shining on her cheeks. “I’ve all but ruined our family. The realm has faced one civil war and may face another shortly. That blood-”

“-Is on the hands of Aerys and Rhaegar. A girl of five and ten may make a mistake, but Rhaegar was a married man of twice your age, and he knew what he was doing. Aerys was the one who burned father and brother alive. That was not you.”

She dried her tears with a piece of cloth. “Rhaegar would have had me one way or another. I know that much.” She sighed, and then began crying again. “What is to become of us, Ned?”

“I don’t know.” Ned said honestly. “Stannis, Robert’s brother is king. He is a...” an image of the man’s frowning face flashed before his eyes. “He is a hard man, but fair.”

She laughed. “Am I to marry him, then?”

“No.” Ned’s voice was firm. “I would not put you through that, not after...”

“I could have born it,” she stated. “I can bear anything, now. We both know I deserve worse.”

Ned swallowed. “Stannis will marry Cersei Lannister. For the security of the realm, that is the best. You will return to the North with me-”

“And what about my baby, Ned?” Ned’s eyes flew up to Lyanna’s. Us. She had asked what would become of us. Her and the baby. Her and the Targaryen bastard. “What will become of my child?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the chapters I've written, this is one I'm least proud of. Not because its bad, but because its so thoroughly paint-the-numbers that there's almost no creativity put into it. Still, the dialogue with Theo and Hightower was fun, and I think I did good Ser Dayne justice here. This also marks the introduction of Lyanna, a character that you can probably surmise to be important based off of the tags.
> 
> I also goofed something here. Ethan Glover canonically should not be here. He went with Brandon Stark's initial party, and joined up with Ned after King's Landing was taken. Since Ned hasn't been to King's Landing yet, it follows that Ethan Glover should not be here.
> 
> As errors go, its not a huge one, but I intend for this version of the story to be no different from the other places I've uploaded.
> 
> Easter Egg, can you spot what killed Hightower?


	8. The King's Justice

Davos found him in the training yard, fighting two of Jon’s finest knights.

Jaime Lannister sidestepped a lunge from one knight and caught the other with his riposte. He stepped back before any response could catch him and parried two, three four strikes in quick succession. He flowed around a backhanded stroke and landed two clean hits upon the chest of one of the knights. He floated back again, just out of reach.

Jaime laughed, removing his helmet and letting his golden hair fall free. “Very good, but I think I have a guest, sers, and in any case I believe you would have had the best of me very soon.”

“Perhaps we should have,” the smaller of the two knights stated. “But were this a real fight, I feel certain that you would have already killed us both.”

Jaime just smiled and bid them depart, turning to Davos. “Ser Onion! Tales of you exploits have reached even my ears. Or is it Lord Onion, these days?”

Davos smiled gently. “I could not say. You, Ser, would know better than me what the proper address to a Master of Whispers is.”

Jaime shook his head. “Ah, I should, but I fear that I was born uncouth. I suppose I might have learnt manners at some point, but I could fight well, and so no one ever bothered with my other shortcomings. Can you swing a sword, Lord Onion? It will be hard to garner respect around here if you cannot.”

“Not a sword. In my more violent days, I preferred a belt with coppers sewn into it.”

Jaime laughed. “Ah, then you should perhaps become my teacher! I am not practiced with such exotic weaponry.”

“We all do as we need.”

“Now, come, tell me your business, Lord Onion. Surely the Master of Whisperers does not come to me for light conversation?”

“Ser Jaime,” Davos paused, considering how best to say what he intended. Jaime Lannister was a bold, dynamic young man. He seemed pleasant now, but if stories were true he had a vicious temper. “You seem to be in very high spirits.”

“You mean for a man who is about to be tried for regicide? What, should I be walking about, crying and moaning and wringing my hands?” Jaime shook his head. “If I were so afraid of the King’s justice, I’d have cut my way out of here and be halfway to Essos by now.”

“To become a sellsword?”

“I’d figure it out when I got there.”

“But you aren’t running?”

“You’re a queer fellow, aren’t you? No, I’m not running.” Jaime retorted, picking a cup of wine from a nearby table. His smile had not wavered, but Davos could see now that it was forced. “What’s your point? Are you here on behalf of the king?”

Davos frowned. “I am here on no one’s behalf but my own.” He paused; that was not quite correct. “...or maybe I am here on behalf of the realm. You, your Father, and Lord Arryn are all assuming that this trial is a mere formality, but it is not.”

Jaime shrugged again. “Well, perhaps not, but it’s bad taste to execute a man for doing something you yourself were going to do as soon as you could. Besides that, my father still seems to think of me as his heir, and the King will be all wrapped up in my sister’s legs afore too long. I can’t think Stannis very much wants to execute me.”

Davos winced. “Have you met the king?”

Jaime smiled again, and this time Davos thought it genuine. “Aye, he does what he thinks right without caring for opinion, that’s a thing I can respect. But I am still entitled to trial by combat if it comes to that, and unless Stannis finds Arthur Dayne somewhere, he’s not got a knight in his service that I can’t beat.”

“Trial by combat would be allowable only if you plead innocent of killing Aerys. Do you mean to do that?”

“No, no, I’ll not play out that mummer’s farce. Are you here to tell me that the king intends to punish me?””

“What the king intends, I cannot say. But if you think he will pardon you...” Davos held up his shortened hand. “You know the story?”

Realization dawned on Jaime’s features. He looked to Davos, then back to the hand. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because your father and the king grow more antagonistic every day, and if this trial goes poorly someone might do something foolish. For your sake and the realm’s, you need to know that this trial is a deadly serious affair. Be prepared to argue for your life, ser.”

***

Everyone of importance in King’s Landing had come for the trial. Eddard Stark had not returned, but Tywin Lannister, Mace Tyrell, Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn were all in attendance. So was the High Septon, and all the Small Council. Stannis sat upon the Iron Throne, the crown weighing heavily upon his brow. Next to him on a lower seat was Stannis’ betrothed, Cersei Lannister. Davos had to admit that the tales of her beauty had been no exaggeration, indeed, every eye in the room was upon her. She seemed to be cool and calm, but Davos could see her eyes flitting about the room as though looking for escape. 

The tension in the air was palpable, with worried discussion breaking out all over the room as various nobles and dignitaries shuffled around trying to get good seats.  
Beneath the stress caused by the trial, Davos could sense an undercurrent of resentment between the assembled nobles.. There had been too much blood spilled in this war, and Stannis had done little enough to breed good will. Mace, Tywin, and Stannis all kept away from each other. Half the power in the realm was not on speaking terms with its king, Davos thought glumly. Perhaps things would become less tense after the Lannister girl wed the king?

The only man able to move between all present was Jon Arryn. He gained a smile from Mace, an approving nod from Stannis, and slightly less dour frown from Tywin.

They brought Jaime Lannister forward, still wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard and looking to all appearances like he had just come from halfway through a feast. He was unarmed, but also unbound, and his smile was brighter than ever. Ser Semiv Leumas, the newly appointed captain of the goldcloaks, began beating the ground with a staff, calling for order.

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” Stannis’ booming voice called out before the assembly had fully quieted. “Knight of the Kingsguard and Slayer of the Mad King Aerys. You stand accused of breaking oaths sacred before the Seven. You stand accused of slaying the king you swore to protect. Do you dispute this point?”

“I do, Your Grace.” Jaime’s smile did not waver in the slightest.

Pandemonium broke out. Every voice in the chamber exploded in confusion and anger, some calling Jaime a liar, some laughing outright at the knight’s boldness, others loudly agreeing with Jaime.

“You deny that you were the one to kill Aerys?” Stannis shouted. “You deny that you took his life?” The assembly hushed to let the king speak, eager to hear the Kingslayer’s reply.

“I deny that I killed the King I swore to,” Jaime said simply. His smile vanished now. “I killed something that had once been Aerys, but at that point he was nothing more than a beast.”

The whole room murmured and wondered. “Ser Florent,” Stannis barked. “You are Master of Laws, what say you of this defense?”

Imry Florent stepped forward, a proud and cocky smile upon his lips. “Utter poppycock, your grace,” Imry stated simply. “Aerys was Aerys, and it was Aerys to whom Ser Jaime swore. All men change. Of what value is a sacred oath before the Seven if a change in a person’s demeanor could negate it?” Davos saw many men nod to that, but most were uncertain. Many of these men had sworn oaths to Aerys.

“Your Grace,” Stannis’ eyes turned to back to Jaime. “I know naught of legal matters. I speak as I saw it at the time. May I recount what happened? Then you may judge for yourself.” Stannis nodded slowly.

Jaime began to walk about the room. “They say he was never the same after the Defiance. I wouldn’t know, I was all of eleven at the time. I knew Aerys as king and as an… associate of my father’s. Prone to saying strange things at feasts,” Davos saw many eyes turn to Tywin, but the older lion did not so much as twitch. “But generally Aerys seemed a jovial, friendly man who gave peace to the realm. When I joined the Kingsguard, for a short time I saw nothing to contradict my first impression of him. But then...” Jaime took in a breath. “We all know about the burnings, yes? He started with simple merchants, then knights, then lords, and eventually he burnt Rickard Stark after allowing him to come under safe conduct. You all know about that, but I was there. I smelled the flesh peeling from them. I heard Aerys’ cacklings mix with the screams of the dying. And there was madness that no one here has even heard of. He-”

“Hold a moment.” Stannis interjected. Jaime held his tongue, but his face had grown very red. “Is there any way to prove what you are about to say?”

Jaime inclined his head. “Yes.” He said finally, blurting the word as though it were a single drop escaping from a dam. “If good Ser Selmy could bear witness?” Murmurs broke out through the crowd as the graying knight stepped up. His face was grave as he took the stand.

“May I question him?” Jaime said, a shark’s smiled on his lips. Stannis nodded. “Ser Selmy, you were in Aerys’ service much longer than I. How was Aerys as a younger man?”

Barristan’s face had gone white. “Good. Foolish, as many young men are, but he had great plans for the realm.”

“Tell the King about the nights we guarded Aerys and his queen. You know of what I speak.”

Barristan coughed slightly. “We were often called upon ordered to guard Aerys’ bedchambers, or his wife’s when he went into hers.” Barristan paused, as if unwilling to proceed.

“Tell them what we heard. Tell them what we saw.”

Barristan’s’ voice wavered ever so slightly. “Aerys… forced himself upon his wife. Every night after he gave someone to the flames he forced her. She was past the age where most women can bear children, and Aerys already had two male sons… but still, her screams filled the castle, for hours and hours. I saw her, once, before she was sent away. She had… marks upon her. Marks as though a beast had clawed her and bitten her and left her only half alive. Pieces of her were missing.”

That earned more whispers. It was the pointlessness of the king’s cruelty that these men would remember. Forcing a woman, especially a wife, was no great crime in the eyes of most men, but Davos saw even the hardest men present wince a little at Ser Selmy’s account.

Jaime rounded on the crowd. “I took oaths as a knight before I took the Kingsguard oath. Oaths to the Maiden and the Mother, to guard their virtue and see them treated with respect. I broke those oaths for Aerys. I broke them to keep my oath as a Kingsguard. Selmy and Dayne and Hightower and all of us did. The Kingsguard dishonored me. It dishonored us all.”

“And having broken all the other oaths, you broke the oath of the Kingsguard as well.” Stannis stated. “Let us not stray too far from the point.”

“I did break that oath. But I broke it later than Ser Selmy did, and it is not he who is on trial.”

Barristan turned to Stannis, his face serene. “Ser Jaime does speak the truth.”

“He speaks nonsense.” Stannis stated. “My brother asked you to transfer your oaths to him, as the true king, and then he pardoned you for everything you did in service to Aerys. The Kingsguard can transfer their oaths to a new king, even while the old one still lives, or else we’d never have had a regency. I believe I have the right of that, Master of Laws?”

Imry’s eyes had been wandering through the crowd, but at Stannis’ statement he nodded forcefully. “Just so, Your Grace.”

The king inhaled sharply. “We know well enough that Aerys was a beast, there is no need to recite the litany of his many crimes. But you, Ser Jaime, were not my brother’s Kingsguard when you slew Aerys. You were not mine. You were his. You betrayed his trust. You abused your own sacred oath to kill him, moments before the rebels would make it to the gate. Did you think that we would thank you, Kingslayer?”

Cersei Lannister’s emerald eyes flashed at Stannis hatefully.

“It was rather last minute, wasn’t it?” Jaimed laughed. “I see you there, Lord Tully. You have not been about much of late, have you?”

“Of course not!” Hoster’s voice was loud with fake indignance. “You nearly ran me clean through on the walls of this city!”

“It is true, I was the last to retreat as Lord Arryn’s men stormed the walls. I fought as long as I could. I killed many good men in Aerys’ name. Perhaps some of the sons of some men in this room! But this city is not defensible, and half the goldcloaks had joined with Lord Arryn. By the time I left, they’d taken the gatehouse and let the whole host in. Aerys was on the throne, screaming, raving about treachery and prophecy. I had just walked in when he ordered for the whole city to be burned.”

Calls of disbelief and shock passed through the crowd. “How,” was all Stannis said. Stannis was asking the right question. King’s Landing was the largest city in Westeros. Surely it could be burned, but doing so would require the concerted effort of an army, not a last few holdouts in the Red Keep. 

“Wildfire. The Substance. The king had barrels of it all through the city. One of his damned pyromancers was going to light a cache and start the whole thing off when I caught the man and killed him.”

The calls of disbelief redoubled, and Jaime had to shout to make himself heard. “I call upon Davos Seaworth as witness!”

“SILENCE!” Stannis roared, and the shouting ceased. The King rounded upon Davos. “Well, what is the meaning of this?”

Davos stepped forward and reached into his cloak, producing a sealed earthen jar. “Ser Jaime spoke to me about this earlier today. The pyromancer was running for a tower at the edge of the Red Keep when Jaime stopped him, so I sent persons to investigate that tower. There were plans there, for a network of wildfire caches. The last I heard we had found 5 barrels, and fourteen jars in size similar to this one, scattered throughout the city. By now my people may have found a dozen more such caches. We believe the jars to be full of wildfire, and so we have not moved them.”

“You brought wildfire in HERE?” Pycelle squeaked, covering his face.

“This jar is empty.” Davos stated. “I thought a reference for the size would be useful. If you would care to inspect the others...”

“By the Seven, no.” Pycelle stated. “I dare say any courtier from Aerys’ reign could identify the stuff at this point.”

Jaime smiled. “Aerys claimed to have a hundred of the barrels throughout the city. Rossart was the one who was ordered to light it, so I killed him. Then I dragged Aerys off his throne and killed him, so that he might give the order to no one else.” Jaime paused. “I did kill Aerys, or whatever was left of his mind at that point. But he had been about to kill himself in any case, and there was no way he would have lived through to the next day in any case. If I hadn’t killed him, he would have died more painfully and taken what was left of the royal family with him. There was no way for me to leave the Red Keep that day without breaking my oath.”

Silence reigned in the hall for a moment. “So, it seems that we are all to thank you, Ser Jaime.” Stannis’ voice was cold. “If what you say is true, you saved half the men in this room, You saved five hundred thousands of my subjects. Why did you not mention this before?” 

“Well, wildfire is dangerous to move, so I thought better to let it sit, lose potency, and be forgotten. Come to think of it, some over-zealous Targaryen loyalist might have trie to burn the city if he had heard about it.”

“Wildfire increases in potency and volatility over time!” Pycelle hoarsely whispered. “It isn’t some potion from a wood-witch that needs to be used before midnight!”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, well then.” He smiled broadly at Stannis. “It is good that we had this trial then!”

“Indeed.” Stannis stated. “You have done great service to the realm, Jaime Lannister. I know what it is to be caught between oaths, to make hard choices where there is no clear right. And yet…”

Tywin Lannister stood up from his seat. Stannis nodded to him nearly immediately, and the old Lion began to speak. “Your Grace, Jaime is a hero of the realm. He sacrificed his honor for good of everyone. Remove him from the Kingsguard, for that is no order for a slayer of a king, but the realm needs men who put the realm first, and my son is clearly such a man.”

Nods were made throughout the room, but Jaime and Stannis both took the news uneasily. “Baelor the Blessed wrote of freeing men from their service in the Kingsguard,” Pycelle added helpfully. “So there is precedent within our law. The oath is for life, but...”

“But nothing.” Stannis growled. “Selmy, you are Lord Commander, is there any means by which a man might be released from the brotherhood?”

“You are the King.” Tywin’s’ voice cut Barristan’s reply off short. “The Kingsguard is a fabrication for your convenience.”

Stannis rounded on Tywin. “I think we are all aware of whose convenience you intend to serve, Lord Tywin. As for me, I consider the tradition and rules of the Kingsguard to be no small matter.”

“The writings of Baelor,” Barristan interjected uncertainly, “referred to repurposing the Brotherhood as a sort of King’s Septons, if Grandmaester Pycelle is referring to the ones I am thinking of. There is no….”

“I will take the black, does that work?” 

The confused conversation ended all at once, as Jaime’s voice called out. All heads turned to the man on trial. Jaime laughed to see them all staring at him. “Well, that’s the simplest way, isn’t it? I fancy that my white cloak is spotted enough with dishonor to be nearly black anyway. Besides, what more is there here for me? Already they call me Kingslayer, and oathbreaker, and any other number of titles I have no care for. Better to freeze my balls off in the North with honor than live in a palace surrounded by disgrace. No, I think I rather like the idea. I will take the black.”

“Jaime!” Cersei Lannister stood then, her eyes bright with tears. “You cannot do this.”

Her brother laughed. “I rather think I can, sister. I will miss you,” he said, with a sudden touch of tenderness. “But no, I must do this. For the first time in a long time, I feel confident that I am doing the right thing.”

Barristan bowed his head to Jaime. “Your example will be remembered in the White Book of the Brothers for all time. Dayne, Hightower, Whent, Martell, myself… of all of us, you will be remembered as the one who kept his honor, even if you had to blacken it to do so.”

Cersei’s turned away from her brother, and Davos saw something then, in the girl’s eyes. Hatred, or jealousy, maybe, deep and scathing. Not for the first time, Davos worried for Stannis’ future cooperation with the Westerlands. The Lannister who Stannis might have most worked with the king was leaving for the North, never to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime goes to the wall!
> 
> This is a chapter where I was rather concerned that what I was doing would come across as forced. There's a part of me that really wants to see Jaime happy and I'm convinced that the Wall is actually one of the best places for him. Reading Life and Honor has only cemented this opinion in my head. Now, an author shouldn't make something happen just because the *want* it too, but I also thought that this chapter fit with Jaime's impetuous, mercurial temper. He's very willing to make snap decisions, and he liked the idea of keeping the moral highground when it suddenly appeared that he could take it.
> 
> All in all, YMMV. Thank's for reading.


	9. A Bastard's Fate

Ned sat in the godswood, listening to his sister screaming, and prayed to the Old Gods.

They had moved Lyanna to Kingsgrave, that being the nearest holding likely to have a maester on hand. Ned had not much liked the idea of moving his sister, but everything had gone well and he could not regret it. Lord Dagos Manwoody had showed them the height of hospitality, and had even done his best to maintain the farce that Ned and his men were simple sellswords seeking respite from their travels. 

Everyone within the castle proper knew the truth, of course, and Ned had even sent a message to King’s Landing, letting Stannis know that they had found Lyanna. Initially, Ned had wanted the existence of Lyanna’s child to remain a secret, but he knew now that that was impossible.

The Lannister men had found them after a week, and Ned had been glad that he had sent word ahead. A score of them had opted to stay in the castle with them, and to escort them back to King’s Landing safely. They had been had been kind, considerate, and thorough thus far. Ned distrusted them still, even if he had no reason.

His sister screamed again, and Ned resumed his prayers.

Enough thoughts of politics, there would be no shortage of tha. His sister was facing the most danger right now. She was but six and ten and had been living roughly these past few weeks. The midwife the Kingsguard had procured had been competent enough, but they had lacked for basic necessities. Many women did not survive their first birth, and Lyanna had faced additional risk.

Abruptly, the screaming stopped, and when it started again, it was not Lyanna’s voice but the voice of a child.

Ned rose to his feet, hastily donning his cloak again and picking up his greatsword. As he drew near, he heard Lyanna’s voice, and it was happy. Had everything gone well? The maids let him into the room after a time, and then he saw them. Lyanna and her little babe, resting quietly for the moment. The floor was slick with blood, and Ned felt his heart rise up into his throat.

Lyanna smiled at him. “Everything is well, brother. Come and meet your nephew.”

Ned looked for a moment to the maester who had delivered Lyanna’s baby. The young man was slumped in a chair, his robes pulled up and his hands covered in blood. The maester nodded to him. “It’s alright to go, milord. The birth was... difficult, but they are both well.”

Ned rushed forward falling to a knee as he laid his hand upon his nephew’s head. He had not often been around a child so young. It seemed that his sister, barely a woman herself, should herself have a child. “And what shall we call him?”

Lyanna chuckled, tired but happy. “Perhaps I will name him Robert.”

Ned looked up abruptly, causing Lyanna’s chuckle to deepen into a laugh. “You are surprised, brother?”

“I know that you don’t hate Robert anymore, but...”

“I owe him a debt, Ned. The man killed Rhaegar for me. And truly, names are cheap. If a name can buy the boy some safety why should I not call him that?” She chuckled again. “What loyalist would fight to put a Robert on the throne?”

Ned smiled. His sister had been so nervous and sad these past few weeks, but now she was her old self again. “A good idea, but unfortunately his cousin already has that name.” Ned replied. “Although if you’ve any deep attachment...”

Lyanna’s eyes grew wide. “You’re a father as well?” Ned smiled and nodded, as Lyanna laid a hand on his arm. “Ned, why did you not tell me?”

“He was born shortly before I found you in that tower. I heard only recently, and you had enough to worry about. I look forward to meeting little Robb and I hope that the boys will grow up to be the best of friends.”

Lyanna smiled. “Well, then perhaps I will name mine Eddard, after the hero of the rebellion? Or Jon? Or Stannis?” Her eyes became wide and predatory. “Perhaps we shall call him Jaime.”

“Jon is a good name.” Ned said after a moment. If they named the child after the King, he might see it as ingratiating flattery and be insulted. Or he might not. Ned did not know Stannis that well. Jon, though, would both see the political move for what it was and be honored by it.

“Jon he’ll be, then. My own little Jon Snow.” Her face darkened a little at that. The child would be a bastard, undoubtedly, and would carry all the struggle that title carried with him for the rest of his life.

“Lyanna,” Ned urged. “I promise you, your son will lack for nothing.”

She wiped away a tear with a free hand. “How can you promise that? You know that the King has summoned us. You know what was done with Rhaegar’s other children.”

Ned lowered his gaze. “Rhaegar’s legitimate children. And Stannis is no friend of mine, but neither is he unfair.”

***  
“To the health of your sister, and to mine.”

Ned tipped back the drink. He had never cared for the Dornish wines, but he downed the drink gracefully. He did not wish insult the Red Viper of Dorne, after all. Oberyn Martell had come upon them when they halted their journey in Wyl. The babe Jon had been as healthy as could be hoped for, but Lyanna was still greatly weakened from the birth.

“So tell me, Lord Stark,” Oberyn’s tone was merry but his eyes were dark. “You fought alongside the men who killed my uncle, my sister was shamed by yours, and your mentor is holding my niece and nephew captive. Should I hate you?”

Ned drew in a breath. Oberyn was testing him, that must be it. “How could I tell you how you should feel? Your uncle fought at the behest of the man who shamed both your sister and mine, and your blood is being held captive on his account, not yours. You tell me who you should hate.”

Oberyn laughed deeply. “You speak the truth, Lord Stark. Rhaegar made us all look like fools. But I do wish that my sister was not bound to King’s Landing.”

“She is free to return to you.”

“And abandon her children?” Oberyn scoffed. “Will your Lyanna abandon hers?”

“Jon will come to us in the North.”

Oberyn smiled warmly. “But of course. Bastards are of little consequence, and besides that you are one of the men who runs this realm now, are you not? Your father’s southern ambition payed off, it seems.”

And he and Brandon and Robert had all died for it. “It was not worth the cost.”

“Blood always comes first,” Oberyn declared. “And what of you and the King? I thought that you would surely insist upon your sister’s marriage to the throne. Is the King so dislikable that you would not subject your sister to him?”

“The King is fair, and I have no issue with him. However, I think my family needs to keep its attentions northward for now. I will have no honors from the king. I will retire to the North, and simply be Lord of Winterfell.”

“A wise move.” Oberyn sipped his wine. “Entangling with Andals never ends well.”

Ned almost laughed at that. “I am married to one now, I fear there is no hope for to avoid attachments to the South.”

“Ah, but that kind of entanglement,” Oberyn wagged his finger suggestively. “Sometimes it is worth the bad ending, no?”

Not knowing what to say in reply, Ned poured himself more Dornish Red.

***

They had waited in Wyl for a whole month, and even then, Ned was loathe to risk the journey. Lyanna’s health had been mending, but only gradually. Fortunately, they had no worry on Jon’s account. The babe had been healthy, happy, and as quiet an infant as any could wish. More importantly, he looked nothing whatsoever like Rhaegar or any other Targaryen.

Travel had been slow, both due to Lyanna’s health and due to the Targaryen loyalists still holding dragonstone. They had set out from Kingsgrave in a riverboat, moved to a galley at Old Wyl, then changed to a wagon to cross Massey’s Hook, and now they were once again in a ship, crossing the Blackwater Bay to King’s Landing. In the months of travel, Ned had heard almost nothing from King’s Landing. It was likely that Jon’s fate had already been decided.

Ned held Jon a bit more tightly and rocked him. They were arriving in port near sundown, and he expected that the King would meet with them on the following day. Lyanna was sleeping at the moment, but Ned expected that the calls of the dockhands and crew would wake her before long.

A plain-faced, bearded man sprang onto the deck before they were fully into port and walked straight over to Ned, bowing deeply as soon as he came near. “Lord Stark, I am Davos Seaworth. The King sent me to bring you to him.”

Ned blew air through his nose. Could the King not wait a single night? They had been travelling all day. “We will be happy to go up to him, Ser Seaworth.” Lyanna’s voice called from behind Ned. She looked like a little girl just then, wrapped in a thick fur coat with her hair blowing about her. Her skin was pale, still, from her months of confinement indoors at the tower, and then later aboard the ships. She had never been pale before, when she had been allowed to ride.

“I can take you to him now.”

On the dock awaited an honor guard, along with horses and a box for Lyanna and the babe. At least it seemed that Stannis’ man was considerate. They proceeded to the Tower of the Hand, the evening air filled with the normal putrid smells. Ned sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods, that Lyanna would contract no new illness by coming here.

“It’s a miracle, is it not?” Ned was stirred from his reverie by the voice of Davos. “To have your first child. Oh, they’re all marvelous, but to actually see them...”

Ned smiled in spite of his dark thoughts. “I had almost given up my sister for dead, to find her, and gain a new nephew at the same time?” He shook his head. “Better than I had hoped.”

They proceeded in silence for a time. “I do not know what I expected of a Master of Whispers, Ser Seaworth, but you are not it.” Ned did not know why he said it.

“Master of Whispers is but a title. I am nothing more than the plain sailor that I have always been.”

“And yet the King sends you to us, and not the Kingsguard, or any other dignitaries?”

Davos lowered his head. “Aye, well, most of the dignitaries have gone home at this hour, and the Kingsguard are not yet up to their full number.”

They rounded a bend and the Red Keep came into view. The fortress was alight with torches, yellow-coated guards posted on every wall. “The Red Keep is ready for war,” Ned stated idly.

“That’s the Stormguard,” replied Davos. “They fill the Red Keep these days. Best footsoldiers in the Seven Kingdoms, to hear their captain talk. Many of them were in the siege with him. They’re nearly always drilling.”

Ned held his tongue. Keeping a small army ready at all times might be a good show of strength, but it might also be seen as the sort of paranoid fearful behavior to which Aerys had been prone. Did Stannis not see the war as being truly over? Did he expect a host from Dragonstone?

They stabled their horses. A maid came to take Jon from Lyanna, but she would not allow it. Ned waved the maid away. He would not allow his blood to leave his sight. Stannis’ solar was alight, bright as day, candles on every wall. Stannis and Jon were alone in there, Stannis pacing back and forth, while Jon sat tiredly to the side. Ned felt a pang of sympathy for the old man. He should be at home with his new wife, not out here past sunset.

Ned kneeled as he approached. “Your Grace.”

“Lord Stark, you may rise,” Stannis stated. He nodded to Lyanna as well. “Lady Lyanna. It seems that your brother was not wasting his time.”

Lyanna curtsied clumsily, reserving one hand for baby Jon. Carrying the babe to the solar had strained her, Ned could see. He wanted to go to her, to steady her, but he had to let her do this alone.

“And then, this is the child?” Stannis’ eyes went to the swaddled form of Jon at her hip.

“This is my son.”

Stannis’ jaw flexed. “Of course.” He lowered his head and locked eyes with her. “He will want for nothing in the Maidenvault with his half-siblings.”

Ned’s eyes shot over to Jon. The older man simply shook his head wearily. Lyann took the news poorly, her face hardening even as tears welled up. Ned felt his mind go cold. How many Starks would be devoured by this city? 

Ned closed his eyes. “Your Grace,” He began, not knowing quite what he intended to say. “The boy is our blood.”

“He is a Targaryen.”

“He is a bastard. He could only be used to claim the throne if both Aegon, Viserys, Rhaella, Rhaenys, and Danaerys were all dead.”

“A bastard can become legitimate.”

“And what of it?” Ned’s voice was surprised by the harshness of his own voice. “What Targaryen loyalist would fight a war for Jon Snow, Bastard of the North, nephew of Eddard Stark? The dragons curse your name, but they curse mine in the same breath.”

Stannis towered over Ned, his face hard and unyielding. “And what of Dorne? I hold their blood as well, do you think they thank me for that? Do you think the realm will be stronger if I deal with my subjects unfairly? I have a duty to the realm, Lord Stark. I am merely holding the boy, and not killing him.”

Ned’s hand settled upon the hilt of Ice at his hip. Words formed in his mind, words that he could never take back. He opened his mouth.

Lyanna spoke first. “Elia Martell is too sickly to be moved and her children are legitimate claimants. I am not Elia and Jon is not Aegon.” Her face was no longer pale, but red and alive and full of rage. “You have a duty to the realm, your grace, but I am a mother, tell me what my duty is?”

“Duty to the realm comes first.” Stannis stated, his face tight.

Lyanna broke gaze with him a moment. “Aye. I will not argue that. A year ago I might have, but not now.”

Ned breathed in. The fury had not left him, but now he was cool, composed. “Your Grace, I came here in a gesture of good faith, to show that I was doing nothing untoward. I let you know of the boy’s existence as soon as I could, to act as honorably as possible. I was among the first to declare for your brother, and among the first to declare for you. I have asked no honor from you for my fealty, but now I ask you this. I beg this of you. Let my nephew and my sister return to the North. I think I ask for little enough.” He added.

“Your ‘little enough’ is greater than you know.” Stannis growled. “Winter is coming, you say? Well what of war? For that is coming too. This entire kingdom rests on the edge of a knife, Lord Stark, and should it befall us, thousands will be made into orphans.”

“I am well aware of the price of war, your Grace.” Lyanna choked out. She was crying now, and it was all Ned could do to restrain himself from running to her. “But tell me, what threat does Jon truly pose? Where are his loyal supporters? Where are his banners? Where are the men who will lift Jon on high to acclaim him as king?” 

“And what of the boy himself, when he is of age? What of his descendants?”

Lyanna advanced upon Stannis, clutching her child as though the babe were a weapon. “Do you think I am the enemy, Your Grace? Do you think I will raise up my son on tales of Rhaegar’s chivalry? Do you think he will raise his sons on such tales? Do you think any such tales at all will be heard in the North after this?” She grit her teeth in anger. “Aerys burned my father alive and strangled my brother. Rhaegar raped me a hundred times, and his knights killed half my brother’s friends to try and keep him from me.” Her wide eyes stared up into Stannis’ own. “You say that the fury is yours? I say that your Seven Hells have no fury like the one I bear against the Dragons.”

The King did not meet her gaze. He moved to say something, but an entering page interrupted him. “Your Grace,” the boy said. “Your lady wife is here.”

Stannis’ jaw flexed. Jon Arryn cleared his throat.“Perhaps we should see what your lady wife has to say, Your Grace. I believe that a diversion from the discussion at hand may be profitable to all parties.”

Stannis sighed. “Very well, see her in.”

Shortly thereafter, Cersei Lannister entered the room, bedecked in red and gold. Ned had seen beauties in Westeros. Ashara Dayne, his own lady wife, and even his own child-like sister had all been praised as great beauties, but Cersei outshone them all. She was the sort men would make songs of, Ned had no doubt.

“Your Grace,” She said, smiling indulgently. “I had just heard that Lyanna Stark had come to us after such a long journey, and knowing that she must be tired, I brought up some wine with me.” She gestured to a servant bearing a pitcher. Cersei turned her smile upon Lyanna. “I have wanted to meet you for some time.”

Lyanna rubbed out her tears with her thumb. “I am surprised,” she managed. “I am no one particularly interesting.”

Cersei shook her head. “You cannot mean that.”

Lyanna took in a deep breath, and smiled. “I am at your disposal, my queen.”

“It is customary, you know, for the queen to have several female companions from amongst the ladies of the realm.” Cersei paused. “Your brother has been terribly dour about asking for appointments; there are almost no persons from amongst the North here in the capital. I would have you here, though, as one of my companions, if you will assent to it?”

Jon Arryn sighed and rose from his seat. “There is merit to the idea,” He commented, helping himself to the wine. “If you are concerned with staying with your son, that could be arranged, even as it has been arranged for Elia Martell.”

Lyanna’s broke from Cersei’s gaze and looked to her brother. Ned closed his eyes. “Pardon, my lords. Might I speak privately with my sister a moment?” Stannis nodded wearily, and Cersei just continued smiling.

Lyanna followed him out onto a balcony a little ways removed from the Solar. “What do you think, brother? It would not be so bad.” Her eyes were sad, resigned. Ned pulled her into a warm embrace.

“Aye. Perhaps not.” Ned said eventually, pulling away. “But I should miss you greatly. And the boy would still be a prisoner.” He looked away a moment. “Lyanna, this offer of Cersei’s, it is not so innocent as it seems. Jon, Lord Arryn, he planned that interaction.”

She frowned. “Are you sure?”

“The man raised me Lyanna. I love him, and he is a kind man, but he is hard, too. He seeks to avoid further conflict between us and the King. He knows a little of you from what I have told him. He knows that you would never consent to stay on at the Red Keep as merely a mother, detached from all your friends and family. He knows that the idea of having a position, an occupation, that will make the idea palatable.”

Lyanna smiled. “If his scheme is simply to give me something I want, I cannot fault him.”

“Lyanna, we can go home together. We can go North. If we press the issue, Stannis will yield to us. I am sure of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“He must,” Ned insisted. “If he had been going to insist upon his rights as King, he would already have done so. He owes us a great debt, sister. I had planned to ask for nothing in repayment, but if all I ask for is this he cannot refuse me. However great a threat he thinks your son is, he cannot refuse me this one thing forever, and he knows that.”

Lyanna looked away and was quiet a moment. The city sprawled out underneath them, a festering corpse of a city, with smoke rising from its shops and stoves to grasp at the stars themselves.

“I will stay here, I think.” Lyanna’s voice was quiet.

Ned looked to her. “Lyanna, this place...”

She laughed. “I know. I will hate this city. Father and Brother died here. But I have nearly destroyed the realm once for my own freedom. This will be penance for that. If it buys some peace between you and the King...”

“Lyanna, please. Let me press the issue.”

She shook her head. “No, Ned. I’m done having my family make stands on my behalf. My son may grow up sheltered, but he will know my love. That should be enough.”

Ned bowed his head. What could he do but let her stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A better look at the sort of person that Lyanna has become.
> 
> I realize that some people will be very angry for my characterization of her, or rather, for my characterization of Rhaegar. I'd like to lead by saying that its possible to characterize Rhaegar and Lyanna in any number ways, since all the accounts we have of them are from people who view them rosy-eyed years later. Ned, Robert, Selmy, Connington etc.
> 
> But I think that this version is the one I find most realistic and believable.
> 
> Rhaegar and Lyanna did love each other, but it was also... more than that. Rhaegar wanted a third child for reasons of prophecy, and had some idea that Lyanna was significant. Lyanna didn't want to be bundled off to Robert as a sweet and innocent maid. If she married at all, she wanted to be on equal footing with her husband. So what they had planned was a tryst of a few weeks or months. No secret marriage or anything like that, because (and this needs to be said) secret marriages are **meaningless**. The whole point of a marriage is that you have it witnessed by the families of both parties, and in any case Rhaegar was already married and the last time a Targaryen tried polygamy, the entire realm revolted.
> 
> But then we come to the somber third act of our little play. Stuff in the North begins to go wrong. Lyanna's brother is imprisoned. Lyanna's father and brother are killed. There's a rebellion, and the whole realm is on fire. Here, the question becomes: "Why didn't Lyanna or Rhaegar do anything about this?" They could have emerged at literally any point and smoothed things over. Now, they could be so stupidly in love that they were willing to let the whole world burn just to have a few more weeks with each other, but this paints them both in a distinctly awful light.
> 
> So the explanation that I find more probable, is that Rhaegar *really* wanted to get Lyanna pregnant, for reasons of prophecy, but that it took a while. Lyanna was either kept in the dark completely (easy to do, when you're in a tower in the middle of nowhere) or was otherwise forcefully imprisoned and raped. That last, unfortunate thing is what occurred in this story, and this is why Lyanna's personality may seem a bit different when compared with other interpretations you've seen.
> 
> Oh, and I also expect there will be a lot of contention in the comments regarding Stannis' actions here. That's fine! There's a lot of contention in-universe as well.


	10. A Cloak of Wool

It was the same dream. The same dream she had been having for months now. Every night she was standing, balancing on a beam. Her eyes were covered and her legs were bound to the beam with a heavy iron chain. She was calm, despite her captivity, and she never grew weary of standing. This was the way of things. Soon, she would awak to light and excitement. She knew this and she did not fear.

If there had been a time before this, she did not think on it. There was nothing in the world for now except the beam, the darkness, and the small sounds that floated in the air. Many times, she felt that she saw things in the dark. A running mouse or a flying dove, but she knew that those images were meaningless. Phantoms. She saw nothing for now, and that too was meaningless. This darkness would last for an eternity, but soon there would the hunt. The sounds grew louder just then, and she felt a surge of excitement within herself. The time of dreaming would soon be over.

...And then there she was, lying in her bed in the Maidenvault, with the light not quite beginning to shine in from her window. That dream, that damned dream. It was strange, ominous. It made her think of Rhaegar and the visions that had tormented him. That was never a pleasant thought with which to start a morning. She believed that Rhaegar might have been a truly good man, once, but those thrice-damned visions had destroyed anything worthy within him. In any case, the dreams were meaningless. The dreams of a mother imagining what life must be like before birth, perhaps? It did fit. Floating and senseless… but that was enough. The day was long and there were things to be done.

She lit a candle, dressed, broke her fast, and tripped down the stairs to the outside. The guard at the door today was Brynden Tully, and she greeted him with a warm smile. Of all of the Maidenvault’s guards, Lyanna liked him the best. The older man might be her son’s jailor, but he had an air of patience about him. You could speak with Brynden about anything or nothing, and he would listen intelligently without offering judgement. She rather supposed that the Lyanna of four years ago would have been rather taken with the man.

The Lyanna of four years ago was a fool.

Still, she far preferred his company to that of the other door guards. Richard Horpe was courtly, but his restless energy made it impossible to be at ease with him. Mandon Moore and Preston Greenfield were quieter and more reserved, but she feared them more for that, not less. Aron Santagar would have been less bad, except that he persisted in his advances towards herlong after she had made her position clear. There were other guards. Payne, Oakheart, Weston, Davrick, Slynt, Swann… but they scarcely acknowledged her.

“Out early again?” Brynden asked with a smile.

Lyanna nodded. “Of course. The mornings are the only time I am free. Else Jon or Cersei or some other person is demanding my attention.” She paused. “I do have some time available in the evening, today, if nothing comes up.”

“Ah. Well, if you do have time, I’ll be drilling the Stormguard in formations this evening.”

She smiled and nodded. “Perhaps I will stop by.”

Brynden finished unlocking the door which led into the narrow antechamber. Once she had gone in, he locked it behind her and she called to the guard on the exterior door. After a moment the door swung open, and Lyanna was out in the cold air of the morning.

The Red Keep had only just begun to wake, and she saw no lords or ladies as she went down towards the godswood. Before she entered the wood, she stopped by a low stone building on the side of the stables. This was what passed for the Mews of the Red Keep. Not many people went in for hawking here. The only acceptable terrain for the sport was in the godswood, and that was too narrow a spot for most people’s tastes. She had never seen Willas Tyrell out here with his birds; the hostage from the Reach was a great enthusiast but he practiced his hobby later in the day.

A minute later she was in the godswood, accompanied by Brighteyes. The beautiful white gyrfalcon had been a gift from her younger brother, and she took her out every chance she had. She released her and she wheeled away into sky with a hunting cry. She smiled to watch Brighteys fly and continued her walk. Brighteyes was magnificent, larger than any other falcon Lyanna had seen, and faster and smarter too. The gyrfalcon hovered in the air above her, nearly invisible against the clouds. A dove fluttered away from her as Lyanna approached, heading for a nearby tree.

Brighteyes had gone into a dive even before the dove quite took flight. The gyrfalcon fell through the air like bolt from the heavens, ripping the dove’s head clean off in a single pass. Lyanna laughed at the thrill of it. This one Benjen had sent her was smarter, faster, and more obedient than any other she had owned.

The hours flew away merrily as she walked in the godswood. Hawking was an acceptable female pursuit, although she hardly understood why. It was a gory business from beginning to end. Other women had assistants to sanitize the process, of course, but even so... It did not matter. She stilled her mind. The godswood was a place for quiet thoughts.

Her walk never took her far from the Heart Tree, and she always felt the tree’s eyes on her back. She had not paid the Old Gods the reverence that Eddard or Benjen had. It was odd, she supposed, considering Ned’s’ Southern upbringing. Even so the Heart Tree, like her falcon, was something from the North. Something from home. She wished she could bring Jon to the Heart Tree, and set him on its roots as her brother had with his babe.

The sun was only just starting to peek above the walls of the Red Keep, but in the rest of the city the day had begun hours ago. The sound of all manner of beasts and ships and men flitted over the castle walls, faint, but enough to remind her of the passage of time. She sighed. Jon would be awake soon, and while there were nursemaids and minders aplenty in the Maidenvault, Lyanna never liked to leave him for too long. She would have enough distractions later in the day, that much was certain.

Her falcon landed on her leather gauntlet and she fed her a scrap of meat. “Well done today, Brighteyes,” She said. “Now, let’s get you back to your roost.”

She returned the falcon and made for the Maidenvault, stopping by the kitchens to drop off her falcon’s kills. The Stormguard outside the Maidenvault acknowledged her with a slight nod, and a moment later she was inside, removing the light shawl she had been wearing in the cool morning air.

“Welcome back, Lady Winter.” Brynden had not moved from his position. Lady Winter. Cersei had been the first to call her that. It was a jibe, an insult, but from Brynden it was merely an expression of familiarity.

“Are the others awake yet?” Lyanna questioned.

“Elia is not, but her-” He was cut off as a messy brown mop of curls burst into the room.

“Auntie Lyanna!” Rhaenys Targaryen cried, putting her hands on her hips. “Have you seen Balerion? I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Cats are like that, dear. He’s left to a special place only cats know about.”

Rhaenys pouted. “But where is he?”

“He’ll come back soon enough, you know he will. He always does.” Lyanna knelt to the little girl’s level. “The best catcatchers know that the only way to catch one is to wait silently for them to come to you.”

The little girl wrinkled her nose and giggled. “You can’t catch anything like that!” With that declaration she was off running again.

“Balerion the Black Dread has been the subject of much worry this morning.” Brynden commented.“I spent nearly a full hour earlier assisting Rhaenys in looking for the beast. To no avail, I fear.”

“Duty, Ser Blackfish.”

“Aye.” He replied somberly.

Lyanna left him and went to find where her boy was.

Little Jon was following his elder half-brother about with a wooden sword, playing at being Aemon the Dragonknight to Aegon’s Daeron. Lyanna came into the room and leaned against one wall, content to observe until Jon ran over, waving his little wooden sword. “Are you a brave knight?” She asked, and Jon smiled brightly and nodded.

She felt a pang at her heart just then. She understood the ban on weapons in the Maidenvault. Martial skills of any kind were the domain of kings, knights, and lords. Rhaegar’s children could never be any of those things. She supposed that the power and grandeur of being a lord was what made martial pursuits so interesting in the first place. Was that not what had made jousting and swordplay so appealing to her? The children would have maesters, septons, and tutors for any skill that was not warfare, and in their adult life they would join one of those orders.

They might let him take the black, one day, and that was not so terrible a prospect to her as it was to Elia. Her brother Benjen had gone there willingly, and the two times she had seen him since he had seemed to be in good health and spirits. But Benjen had been trained for that life, and had been able to choose. If her Jon went to the Wall, it would be without ever having held a real sword, and the only alternatives would have been to become a scholar or a septon. Regardless, her boy’s dream of becoming a magnificent knight like Aemon was impossible, so long as the King’s decree stood.

Decrees could be changed, of course.

“Shall I tell you both a story?” She asked, settling down on a seat nearby.

“Hour of the Wolf!” Little Aegon called out, his purple eyes alight with excitement. The little dragon loved that story for some reason.

“Alright, well, this all happened more than a hundred years ago, when Jon’s great ancestor Cregan Stark was Lord in the North.”

An hour, not more, was all the time she had. Most of the rest of her day was the Queen’s. She left the children behind and went to prepare herself. She did not need long. Some of Cersei’s other attendants spent their entire mornings in their toilet, carefully applying oils and brushing hair and testing various perfumes.

Lyanna’s approach was more simple. She donned a great shaggy half-cloak made of a wolf pelt, clasped with a silver brooch in the form of a claw. She brushed her hair again, and tucked her bangs behind her ear right with a feathered clip. She had a silver ring for every finger and an old-fashioned dress of cotton. Her box of powders and scents she left untouched.

Exactly once, before she left, her looked into the mirror, drawing her expression into a cold, impenetrable wall. Her face was flint and her eyes were ice. She was from the Old Blood and these southerners could do nothing to her.

Brynden laughed at her when she came again into the hall. “Dressed for war like a Wildling Princess, Lady Winter.”

“You can’t let the beasts know that you fear them,” Lyanna replied evenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a three year time skip, in case you're confused. This is where the real meat of the story begins. There are some slower chapters coming up as a result but I don't think that they're *too* much of a drag.
> 
> Also, first Lyanna chapter! And she's running right into a mean girls scenario! Lyanna as a character is not as popular as Davos is in my fic but she's the one I like the most. (don't tell the others.)


	11. Dragons From the Mist

He ran his fingers through his hair, scarcely restraining the panic that had begun to seize his mind. They were dead. Dead. All of them. Dead or chained to a wall as hostages and worse than dead.

Willem Darry was no craven. He had fought and bled and killed with the best of them. But fear had lately become an ally, had kept him sharp and on the lookout for danger. Now it seized him, filled his throat with bile. He wanted to run. He wanted to charter a vessel to Lys and leave the children to their fate.

But he had not come this far to give in, to give up. He would not be broken by a rat from Flea Bottom.

He had first seen the Rat’s men in the dockyard, a week before. They must have been the ratmen, anyhow. Westerosi were all over the city, the men at the docks were simple merchants, no doubt. In any case even the Rat had not become so bold as to strike here, at the heart of Braavosi power. That was what the Sealord had said to him.

The Sealord was a fool. Or perhaps he was in league with them. No, Willem drew in a breath. The Sealord was not in league with Stannis, nor was he an idiot. Most likely, he simply did not care. By all accounts he had gotten along famously with the new regime. Really, it should not have been surprising. The Sealord was nothing more than an upjumped merchant after all, and such men had always been welcome at King Stannis’ table.

More men had come today, this time to his house. They had loitered outside, inspecting the place with their cold eyes. Common men. Merchants. Part-time pirates and servants of the Rat, he had no doubt. He had half-considered charging out there and cutting them both down. He could have done so. Should have, maybe. But that could have been a trap. 

All paths might turn ill at this juncture for all he knew.

The sun had gone and the docks were cold. Willem wrapped the cloak around himself and waited. He was meeting a man here, a Lyseni merchant. The man had asked for an obscene amount of gold to meet him here. Insulting, but Willem had expected that. Few captains would arrange a meeting on the day before they departed, but he had need of haste.

The man walked into the alley. He was tall and spare, with long white hair and a thin white beard.

“You’re the Lyseni?”

The man coughed. “My name is Laador Asam. And you are Master Yarin?”

Willem nodded. All of this lying and back-alley confrontation made his skin crawl. “Aye. Can you arrange for passage for a dozen persons to board your ship to Lys?”

The Lyseni spread his hands. “All things can be arranged, Master Yarin.” He paused. “As it happens, the lying whoreson of a merchant who I buy from only had half the stock I had come here to buy. I am rich with space, and poor of gold. But of course, to take so many, on such short notice...” The man winced, with what seemed almost comical overreaction. “My men are tired, sleeping at home with their wives. Shall I call them out again and have them dump the fine tea that we have bought here? You ask much Master Yarin.”

“How much?” Darry growled. These Lyseni were all the same.

“Now, now, that is not fair,” Laador huffed. “I am undertaking much risk Master Yarin. How did you discover the name of my humble ship?”

“Madame Silessa,” Darry muttered. He had been a staunch patron of the woman’s establishment for two years now, and he trusted her, insofar as he was capable of trust these days. “How much?”

“Ah, but you should have said that you came from dear Sissy!” The Lyseni man laughed. “For a friend of the family, a hundred dragons?”

Darry ground his teeth. That was a princely sum for a passage. Did the sailor know? No, no, this was just his way. One of the rat’s men would have been all too eager to help, in any case. “80 dragons,” he insisted.

“You wound me!” The man howled. “My children, they will go hungry! Perhaps ninety?”

“Four score and five,” Darry hardened. It was a small matter, but every dragon counted these days.

“Ah, I will be made a beggar! What shall I say I say to my dear wife?” Laador sighed and extend his hand. “Alas, for all paths beggar me. The deal is the deal.”

Darry muttered a reply and returned the handshake.

He did not sleep that night. Everything necessary had been packed, the children had been closeted and put to bed, then woken again before it was quite dawn. Little Daenerys, barely two and a half namedays old, stared out wide-eyed at the great, surly men that worked around them. These sailors came from all over Essos. He even saw a great big man who who looked half Dothraki. Viserys took the whole affair more stoically than his sister, keeping himself cool and aloof from the others.

“Scared to be going away again, Your Grace?” Darry questioned.

“Why should I be scared?” Viserys said, his face tight and controlled. “I am going to the ancestral lands of my family.”

Well, the Targaryens had not come from Lys, but Darry supposed the boy was close enough to right. In any case, they could hide there, amidst a sea of white hair. Darry shot another glance at the True King of Westeros. Viserys was staring out into the sunrise, the wind blowing his hair aloft in the breeze. He was a good lad. A brave lad for being not yet ten.

He gripped Viserys’ shoulder tightly as they pulled out of the bay. It was early morning now. There was a chance that they had set a fleet of pirates just outside of the Titan. Darry could believe that easily enough. His heart rose to his chest as they passed between the legs of the Titan. 

Hours passed, and he could not relax. His eyes had gone weary, searching for the ships of the Rat. Ships did come, but they never drew near. By the afternoon, he began to feel hope. By sunset, he laughed to himself and retired to his cabin, a bottle of port in hand. He had done it again! He had escaped them and he would hide again. Not even the Rat had so keen a nose as to sniff him out in Lys, at least not for a long time. And by then he would have agreements with Dorne, and with the Golden Company, and with thousands of others. A stag was no dragon, they would all see that soon enough, and when he returned, they would sing Viserys’ praises from the rooftops.

When he woke in the morning there was a knife at his neck.

They pulled him, stumbling, to the deck. His head ached and his limbs felt as though they were filled with lead. He tried to fight, but his feeble, groggy movements accomplished nothing. The steps dragged against his knees as the pulled him into the sunlight. They let go of him, and he struggled to his feet, the early morning light blinding him. He was surrounded. Big men with long knives and dour faces. Why had they let him stand? Even so hungover as he was, he was a knight of the realm.

“Willem Darry,” The voice was cold, plain. “You stand accused of high treason against King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name.”

Darry whirled on the speaker. “Treason? Treason? I’m the only man here who isn’t a traitor!” Chuckles rippled through the crew at that. Darry closed up his stance. Why were they laughing? Surely these men were not such blackguards that they had no respect for loyalty?

“No one here swore an oath to King Aerys, Ser.” The speaker was a man of middling height, his face obscured by a great beard and a seaman’s cap. “They are simple tradesmen, nothing more. Most of these men, in a week, will take their pay from King Stannis and never speak to me again.”

“It’s you.” Darry growled hoarsely, and to his own shame he felt tears running down his cheeks. “You’re the King’s Rat.”

“Some men have called me that.”

“You-” Willem started forward and immediately a dozen knives were pointed at his neck. “How did you do it. Did Silessa sell me out? How did you find me in the first place?”

“I’ve known where you are for six months, Darry. The men you saw on the wharf were just there to flush you out of hiding, make you try to charter a ship. Every one of your contacts in this city had a spy watching them.”

“The Lyseni captain-”

“The real Laador is enjoying a hundred and fifty dragons to do nothing.” The Rat paused. “Ser Willem Darry, do not curse yourself. You never had a chance to find another ship.”

Darry scowled and cursed. “You make a mockery of all that is good in the world, Rat. Yours is a world where women poison their husbands and friends can’t look each other in the eye.”

The Rat shook his head. “Ser Willem Darry, though these men laugh at you, King Stannis would not. You have served Aerys loyally. The King is a just man, and sees the honor in you. He has passed judgement on you already, so that your fate could be clear as soon as you are captured. Take the black, Ser, or perish. A boat will come to take you to Eastwatch, and you will betray no one and retain your honor in serving the realm. This is your only chance to take this offer.”

“I presume you’ve already tossed the children into the sea, villain?”

“No. They’ll be taken to the Maidenvault with their kin.” The Rat nodded. “The King is just.”

Darry swallowed the bile in his throat. The King was a usurper, an oathbreaker, and a tyrant. He trod upon the sacred rights of nobility, passed over stout men for people like the Rat, and hunted the children of the man he had betrayed. And yet… and yet… to serve in the Night’s Watch would not be dishonorable. The black brotherhood were not Stannis’ dogs yet at least.

He considered it a moment. To live was surely no evil thing. But in what manner would he live? The Wall was manned by whore’s sons and deserters and thieves. To live with such men as ‘brothers’? That was surely an evil fate.

“For what reason would I go to the wall?” Darry sneared. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve no honor to regain. Take me to your King, let him judge me. Let him tell me how righteous he is. I want to see it.”

“Ah,” The Rat stated. “I am sorry.” Darry felt rough hands take him, push him to his knees. “Your judgement has already been passed.” Darry looked up into the Rat’s dark eyes with hatred. “The Stranger comes, ser.”

Darry’s head rolled onto the deck a moment later.


	12. The Wolf Beneath

The Red Keep now swarmed with people, lords, ladies, and otherwise. Servants bustled this way and that, the whole great castle full of noise. She loved watching them all, speaking with them, learning their stories. There were bakesr carting flour to and fro, the Stormguard standing watch, the stableboys practicing swordwork against each other with bits of wood. Even in this terrible city, there were many good people, and she tried to remember that. 

“Do you know how much your mistake has cost me? I could have you hanged if I liked. Do you know that?” A noblewoman built like a riding crop was towering over a cowering maid. It was not an uncommon scene, sadly, but Lyanna knew this noblewoman well. Selyse Florent, her fellow lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She ducked her head and walked up quietly behind Selyse.

“Headed to the garden?” Lyanna asked in a low tone.

“Ah!” Selyse started with surprise and whirled on Lyanna, the servant hastily curtsying and making her escape. “Lady Lyanna!” Selyse scolded. “You have scared me half to death!”

It took all of Lyanna’s self-control to resist smirking. Lyanna had always been short. The blood of the First Men was not the blood of giants. Selyse, meanwhile, was very nearly as tall as the King, towering over Lyanna by more than a foot, but still, she reacted as if Lyanna were going to bite her. Lyanna contented herself by simply raising her eyebrow. “You did not see because you did not look. You were not listening, either, else you would have heard me asked if you were headed to the garden.”

“Yes, of course I am headed there, you know that.” Selyse snapped waspishly. “Lord Mace and all the other Tyrells are already there.”

Mace Tyrell had come to the Red Keep to visit his son. At least, that was the stated purpose, but Lyanna guessed that he also had some kind of scheme. It was the only reason to come to the city, really.

Selyse did not speak to her as they walked to the garden together. Lyanna did not complain about the silence.

The garden was a beautiful if rather untidy affair. The King and Queen cared little enough for growing things, so the garden had never been set to rights, but still, it was one of Lyanna’s favorite places in the Red Keep. Beautiful harp music lilted over the castle walls. Likely Willas Tyrell, Lyanna thought. 

“There you are! Sissy, come here!” The speaker was a slender blonde woman, who might have been called beautiful except for her spotty, pinched face. 

Selyse’s expression twisted angrily and she stalked over.“Kyra, what are you shouting for?” She hissed at the shorter woman. 

The blonde lifted her eyebrows suggestively. “Monford Velaryon came to court yesterday to speak with the Master of Ships.”

Selyse drew back in shock. “Kyra Frey, you did not. Kyra, he is a Lord. You defile...”

Kyra only laughed. “Not Monford. His uncle. Ser Orys.”

Selyse gasped. “Kyra!” She looked to the side anxiously before whispering. “Kyra, he is nearly fifty!”

“That just makes him experienced,” Kyra stated nonchalantly. “And besides, for all your prudishness, I know that you’ve wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through that flowing white Valyrian hair, to feel that pale, smooth skin touching yours...”

“I do not.” Selyse spat.

Kyra barked a laugh. “No, I suppose you just wonder at what it must be like to get fucked at all.”

Lyanna let out a tiny breath. They could continue like this for hours. For all her protests, Selyse liked sharing company with Kyra, and Kyra enjoyed Selyse’s company in return. They each made the other feel superior, and their daily strife was something precious to them. Lyanna looked around absently for a distraction.

The garden was filling with people slowly. Various administrators and lesser lords and knights. She spied what she assumed was the Tyrell party a little ways away, and more would be coming soon. After all, the Queen and likely the King would be here soon, and neither of those persons could go anywhere in the Red Keep without a dozen hangers-on attaching themselves. The Red Keep as a whole, was a great stinking carcass, every inhabitant trying to get its own cut of meat. She would have scorned them, except that she was one of them.

“Well, Lady Winter, do you agree?”

“What was the question?” Lyanna asked, her expression neutral.

Selyse leaned in like a great, hateful stork. “This one,” Selyse spat, pointing at Kyra, “was insisting the most-”

“It feels better to fuck the haughty types,” Kyra stated blandly. “The Velaryons can’t exhale without telling you that they’re of the blood of Old Valyria, but if they should condescend to dip their wick they squeak and squeal like the rest of them.”

“And you’re asking me...” Lyanna raised an eyebrow.

“Well, do you agree?” Kyra asked, smiling. Lyanna sucked in a breath. They were bringing that up again. The women did, from time to time. Part of it was genuine curiosity, but the other half was her own fault. She did not like either of them and so she stayed aloof. They did not like her haughtiness, and so they took every chance to bring her down to their level. She could ignore them for the most part, but with respect to Rhaegar... There were a thousand and one thoughts that crowded her mind all at once, filling her with guilt, shame, anger, pain. Rhaegar’s smiling face flashed before her, then the face of him frowning determinedly. The Tower of Joy, he had called it, but once the joy was gone... She… She would not think those thoughts. Her face was flint and her eyes were ice. She was of the Old Blood and these southerners could do nothing to her.

She released the breath she had been holding and made eye contact with Kyra. “I’ve always imagined that to lay with someone you loved would be best.” She paused. “But if you’re referring to Rhaegar, I cannot say that I thought much of our difference in rank. ”

It was true enough. She had gone with Rhaegar willingly, at first, but his title had never meant much to her. Indeed, nothing about Rhaegar had meant that much to her, beyond the fact that he would have her. She had been determined to not be a maid when they sent her to Robert, that they might at least marry on equal terms. She had been furious that her father had cared nothing for her opinion and felt the need to exert her own will. She had been disgusted that her betrothed would call her “sweet” and had aimed to disabuse him of that notion. She had not run away for love, she had run away for thrice-damned foolish pride. She saw that now, for all the good it did her. The fool of a woman who had done those things had died in Dorne.

Lyanna felt a smile touch her lips. If that Lyanna had died in Dorne, was this her version of the seven hells?

Kyra scowled at her smile. “You call yourself a peer of a prince? Seven above, you’re the haughtiest of them all.” 

“Both of you, stop this chatter!” Selyse insisted. “Some of us have reputations worth keeping.”

“Oh, I know I do.” Kyra’s eyes glittered. “You both disdain me, but I shall be the first to marry of us three, and you all know it. Selyse has the mind and body of a woman thrice her age, and I think Lyanna will find that men prefer women who have a pulse. You may disdain me, but I am like to marry better than you.”

There was just enough of Lyanna’s foolish younger self in Kyra to make the woman insufferable. She knew that she should say nothing. She should be above getting entangled with these two. But the words spilled out without her conscious thought. “Tell me, Kyra.” Her voice was low and cutting. “Is House Frey a brothel, that its women boast of being used by lordly men?”

Kyra’s face flushed hot, her eyes tightening even as she maintained her smile. She opened her mouth, but then Cersei was approaching and all eyes turned to her. The queen looked radiant as ever. She was beautiful, Lyanna knew, more beautiful than Lyanna herself or anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. Yet today the Queen wore a sour expression that lent her an unpleasant air. She often wore that expression, these days.

Lyanna curtsied with the others as Cersei approached. The Queen forced a smile and nodded at them. “At least the bard I brought in seems to be somewhat passable,” Cersei remarked after minor pleasantries had been exchanged. “Come on then, let us go over and make Willas introduce us.”

As they walked over, young Willas Tyrell stood and walked over to them, smiling kindly. Lyanna allowed a small smile of her own to appear in response. Willas was a tall, good-looking young man, with long dark hair and the body of a man training for war. He was a few years Lyanna’s juniors, but he had the manners and mind of a man twice his age and she always appreciated his company.

He was accompanied by a great overfilled wineskin of a man that had to be Lord Mace Tyrell, and an older woman who was as sharp as Mace was dull. There were a dozen other courtiers around them. Royce, Florent, Morrow, Massey, Krats… She knew all their names, but she paid them little enough mind. Along with everyone else, her eyes were on the Tyrells and upon the Queen.

Willas bowed. “Ah, my Queen, you do us honor. This is my father, Lord Mace Tyrell, and my grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell.” The Queen of Thorns, that was her other name, though she was no rose at all. “Lord Father, I am sure you recognize our fair queen, Cersei Lannister?” 

Cersei’s calm smile that did not reach her eyes. “We are happy that you have come to meet us here. I see that many introductions have already been made. These with me are the Ladies Lyanna Stark, Kyra Frey, and of course Selyse Florent, who you already know. ” Lyanna did not need to look to know exactly the sort of expression Selyse and Kyra were wearing at the moment. Selyse would be preening at the compliment, while Kyra’s hateful eyes would betray her as she smiled at Willas. The young man had spurned her advances, and she did not take such a slight lightly.

For her part, Lyanna did not make any expression at all, giving Willas a simple nod after she had finished curtsying. The conversation turned to silly, pointless things after that. Cersei had brought some renowned bard into the garden. They listened to the music, made light conversation. Food was brought out to them, then they prepared to walk about the garden.

Lyanna stood up abruptly, happy to be allowed to move again. All she did these days was sit. To think that she had once complained when she had not been allowed to wear her sword about Winterfell. Now even a simple walk seemed like a release.

“Hold a moment, Lady Lyanna,” Willas interrupted. “I would ask that you do not leave with the rest.” He smiled as though apologizing. “For some time I’ve admired that great white gyrfalcon in the Mews by the godswood, I was amazed to hear it was yours.” 

Lyanna moved to reply, but Cersei spoke over her. “You should not underestimate her, Willas, our Winter Lady is quite a wild creature.” That earned a pleasant laugh from the assembled party.

Willas laughed along good-naturedly. “Indeed,” he said. “A still lake hides many depths. But what of it, Lady Lyanna? If you are amiable, I would speak of hawking with you, and what better time than when the others are taking their walk? Someone must sit here with my grandmother, and why should it not be us? Our talk of hawking would bore these others to tears.”

She nodded. Kyra and Selyse had been especially on edge today. Had something happened? No matter. “I should be happy to speak with you.” She paused. “Unless, my queen, you have need of me?”

Cersei forced another smile. “No, indeed not. Indeed, I am glad Willas thought of it. The Tyrells are our guests after all, and it is our duty to entertain them.” Lyanna blinked at that. A year ago Cersei would not have been so polite or tactful. The cat was learning, it seemed. Lyanna wondered if that was a good thing.

She sat as the majority of the party left them, leaving just Olenna and Willas and herself. Lyanna let herself relax somewhat, smiling a little and raising an eyebrow at Willas. “So, what is this? I’ve had Brighteyes for nearly a year. If you had wanted to ask me, you could have done so any time.”

Willas smiled. “Perhaps I was nervous? A fine bird can intimidate a man.”

“And which fine bird was it that intimidated you?”

Why, the gyrfalcon.” Willas’ feigned confusion turned to false realization. “Lady Lyanna! Surely you do not think I am so uncouth?”

“A shame you are not. I rather like the idea of being compared to a falcon.”

“It’s certainly worked well enough for the Arryns for the last few thousand years,” Olenna commented, her hands folded in her lap. “The boy does want to talk hawking with you, make no mistake, but a man can have more than one reason for a thing.”

“Indeed.” Willas leaned in his elbows on his knees. The young man’s eyes were now deadly serious. “I have invited the king to go on a short hawking trip, only a few weeks into the Kingswood, and if you would be interested, I would be happy for you to come as well. It won’t be a massive affair, just three weeks and a dozen lords and ladies.” He paused. “I understand you would have to get leave from the Queen.”

“Has the King actually agreed to this?”

“He’s a damned fool if he doesn’t,” Olenna stated, causing Willas and Lyanna both to straighten. “What, can’t a king be a fool like any other man?” The old woman shook her head. “I’ve lived through four kings, and they were all fools at times. Some more than others. But this hawking trip is the kind of thing a young king needs to be doing most of all. Everyone says the King is just and fair and those are good things, but justice alone never kept a realm together.”

Willas coughed. “Lady Lyanna, out of respect for you, I wish to be frank: my grandmother and I are concerned about the state of the realm. Our family was never going to be a favorite in Stannis’ court. We always knew that. We picked the wrong side in the war, and the King has reason to hold a grudge against us.”

Lyanna did not comment. The King collected grudges like some men collected books. His library included grudges for or against most of the lords of the realm. He had reasons, no doubt. Stannis always had reasons, but that did little to set her at ease.

“I want to change that.” Willas continued his voice low. “The Reach has always been a hotbed of sedition, and only the Iron Throne has allowed for it to know peace for so long. Stannis’ dynasty is young, and if it is to prosper, I am convinced he needs to know that we support him.”

“Trust is earned,” Lyanna stated. “You won’t gain that through a party.”

“A man can’t earn the trust of a man who doesn’t even know him.”

“This is why Mace came to King’s Landing? To arrange a hawking trip?” A nervous glance passed between Willas and his grandmother. “This isn’t Mace’s plan, is it?”

“Not precisely.” Willas coughed. “Father has some design of arranging a marriage to the Iron Throne. One of his cousins to the King’s younger brother.”

“He’d sooner marry Renly to a Florent.”

Willas winced. “I know that. This Hawking trip has nothing to do with it. The Hand and I have been speaking about the need for more… relaxed interactions with the King for some time now. The only reason you’re hearing about it now is that my grandmother thought that we should invite you.”

Lyanna suppressed a frown. Why would the Hand be talking over such a matter with one of the king’s own subjects? She had known that Lord Arryn and the King had been arguing, but to go behind his back? “So, what then, you are plotting with the Hand to help the King make friends?”

“Well,” Willas frowned. “Yes.”

“And these people you have gathered. Who are they?”

“A mix. Some from houses that could be made into loyal supporters of the throne. Some from houses that are already supporters of the throne.”

“And which are you?”

“Neither. I’m a hostage. But perhaps that could be changed.”

“Because Stannis does not take hostages from his loyal supporters?” Just a hint of bitterness entered her voice. More than she had intended.

“You’re no hostage.” Olenna tutted. “You’re a soft-hearted girl who’s attached to a bastard. Your family would be better off if you forgot the boy existed and went back to Winterfell.”

“The boy is my family,” Lyanna said, her voice sinking low.

“If you say so, then it is so,” Olenna replied, seemingly unconscious of the offense she’d offered. “But while you’re here, you might as well make use of your time. I wonder if you’re aware that people view you as your Lord brother’s agent here in the south? If the word my grandson brings me is true, you’ve spent two years here in the heart of the seven kingdoms doing nothing at all.”

“I am not my brother.” Lyanna was surprised by the venom with which she said it. “I act only for myself. Although where southern entanglements are concerned, we are united. Neither of us wants anything to do with them, beyond our loyalty to the King.”

Willas frowned. “So you are not coming, then?”

Was she not? In truth, the trip sounded like the sort of thing she might have done in her youth. To be free of the stink of the city, to be away from the Queen and her people… she would like that. But to be away from Jon? It would only be a few weeks. Cersei had left her little Cyrenna alone for four times that. Elia, the nurses, and everyone else would manage Jon well enough. He was a well-behaved lad. Even when Lyanna was gone, he would not cry, she knew that much.

And then, there was the purpose of the hunt. Perhaps she could speak with the King, make him reconsider his ruling. It would be dangerous, but perhaps… perhaps...

“I suppose I will come.” She allowed. “But mostly for the hawking.”

The day went on from there. She and Willas talked happily of falcons for some time. Cersei and the others returned. Cersei trotted out her little princess for everyone to see. When Lyanna returned to the Maidenvault, the hour was late and she was tired. Richard Horpe was on duty then, impatiently pacing back and forth like a caged rat. She gave him a curt nod and went to her family’s chambers, tossing open the door.

“One of those days again?” Lyanna turned, and saw Elia Martell, sitting in an alcove with a book in one hand and a wine glass in the other. Little Jon was asleep with his head on her lap. At the foot of the couch was a massive bouquet of flowers. 

Lyanna let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You know the answer, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked.” She gestured to Jon’s sleeping form. “He insisted on staying up again?”

Elia hummed affirmatively. “I was reading to him, but alas, it seems as though Natural History is not of much interest to him.” She sipped her wine, nodding to the flowers. “Your lover sent another gift for you. Flowers, this time.”

Lyanna sighed. “What am I going to do with him?”

“Marry him, I imagine. He’ll wear you down eventually.”

“I’m not interested in marrying.” 

“Jon won’t be a babe forever. I doubt you plan on following him to the Wall?” 

They had had this conversation a hundred times. Wendel Manderly was a fine enough man, she supposed, but he was fat and uncouth and cared only for feasting and fighting. His attentions were gratifying, but she had little interest in a man who only courted her at his father’s request.

Lyanna sat down and ran a hand through her hair. “Elia, I tell you, Kyra and Selyse are getting worse by the day.”

Elia sipped her wine. “Oh dear, that sounds terrible.” She set down her book and wine and leaned in. “You must tell me all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, this chapter is a mess. But still, I'm reasonably happy with it. Trying to get a handle on Lyanna's character and the setting around her, and convey all what's going on.
> 
> Please comment!


	13. Bread and Salt

“I am the dragon!” The little dragonseed screamed, his pale features a bright pink. “You serve a false king! A usurper! Bow to your rightful king and I might show you mercy yet.”

Davos reached into his sack and the child quieted to a whimper suddenly. “W-what are you doing?”

The sun had not yet dawned, but here beneath the deck of Black Betha it would hardly have made any difference. Davos’ young son Allard stood behind him, carefully sheltering a candle from the drafts. There were a few of his men in the room as well, watching silently from the shadows.

“Viserys,” Davos stated. “Your life up to this point has not been pleasant, and it has been no fault of your own. But what comes next is your choice.”

The boy shrunk in on himself. “I have no choice.” He spat to the side. “Your usurper will do what he likes, and his traitor knights will push me wherever he directs.”

Davos nodded. “You are going to the Maidenvault with your brother’s children, that much is certain. But what you make of it, that is up to you.”

“A dragon cannot be chained,” Viserys stated haughtily.

“Then what’s the Dragonpit for?” Allard snorted.

“I am the King,” Viserys hissed. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”

Davos sighed. Words like that would send him to the Wall, should he speak them in King’s Landing. “You’re no king, Viserys. Stannis is King.”

“I am-”

“-A boy of ten, who lives only because the king of Westeros is a better man than your Father.” Viserys’ face contorted with anger, but Davos continued, a dangerous edge entering his voice. “I said you’d have a choice, Viserys, and so you shall. You can choose whether Stannis and his vassals are villains or the rightful lords of the realm.”

“You’re usurpers. You’re oathbreakers.” Viserys savored each word as he said it. “You’re traitors who should be hanged.”

Davos nodded. “Very well.” Two strong men reached out and grabbed Viserys by the arms, pulling him forcefully. “Unhand me!” the boy cried, struggling with all his might, even as he was born to the deck. Viserys’ chest was pushed over the railing, his legs kicking helplessly against the deck. If the fool boy kicked harder, he would have pushed himself over the edge.

Davos had a pang of conscience at what he was about to do. This sort of brutality had never been his trade, although he had seen it done often enough. Cruelty was a strange cloak to wear, but he was Stannis’ villain, and wear it he must. In any case, he would not be doing the boy any kindness to allow him to continue as he was.

“LET ME GO!” Viserys yelled.

Davos stepped behind him. “Look into those waves, boy. If I tell these men to drop you into them, they will. The waters are calm and cold here, it’d take hours for you to drown completely. Every time you managed to resurface, you’d grow a little more tired, your lungs would be a little more full of water. You’d cough up water twice for every gasping breath you took. You’d be cold and numb all over, and your eyes would burn with the salt.”

Viserys’ neck struggled to look away from the ocean. “Y-You can’t.”

“Can’t I?” The men pushed him further over the edge.

“The King’s orders...”

“Ah, so he’s a King now?” Davos jerked his head and the men pulled Viserys back onto the boat, depositing him like a wet sack on the deck. 

The boy sat there, gasping, his expression sullen and tormented. What a poor, foolish boy. 

“I’m not going to drown you.” Davos allowed. “But if Stannis is a usurper in your eyes, then he must kill you. You are no infant, Viserys, and you have fewer friends in Westeros than your niece and nephew do. Every day, men howl at the King, telling him to take your head. Think carefully, Viserys, before you call King Stannis a usurper again. It is only by his rule that your life is spared.”

“And what of my sister?” Viserys’ tone was sullen now, defeated. “What of my mother’s crown?”

“That crown is a curse,” Davos stated. “So long as it is yours, you’ll remain a king without a kingdom, without an army, and without vassals. You’ll be a mark of derision across the whole world.”

“I would have subjects. There are still some who were loyal to my Father.” Viserys’ words were proud, but lacking in conviction.

“How many, do you think? I do not know what Darry told you, but the truth of your father’s crimes was worse than even the rebels realized. No one speaks well of him. All have bent the knee to Stannis. Even members of Aerys’ Kingsguard have bowed. The Kingslayer is hailed as a hero. The few who would still support you are scattered, leaderless, and few in number, their loyalty more akin to madness than anything else. I could release you on the streets of King’s Landing, and in a whole year you would find no one to back your cause. Your crown is naught more than a piece of metal.”

“Mine it is, though.” Viserys’ eyes flashed with a spark of defiance. “You took it from me.”

“Aye, and if that crown meant anything, I’d be King.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Aye.” Davos said no more. There was no more to say.

The boy looked down. “And what about Daenerys?” His voice had become very small.

“She cannot go to the Wall or to the maesters, but she may go to the faith. For the next three years you will be together, and possibly after. She may even marry.”

“To some traitor knight who fought against my brother.”

“And then she will choose, whether that knight is a traitor or a man of honor. Just as you will decide now who is the rightful King. Again, I caution you: be careful what you choose. You will never sit on the Iron Throne, but if you are not careful you may die before it.” 

***

The second week at sea was easier. Once in a while, Davos caught an angry light in Viserys’ eyes, but in general the boy became quiet, subdued. Some days he would sulk in the hold of the ship. Other days he would venture out and hold conversation with Davos and some of the other knights, asking about the Maidenvault and his cousins.

It did not matter, but Davos at least held hope that the boy would not speak of open rebellion.

On the second day of the second week, they weathered a minor squall, and both Viserys and Daenerys became ill.

On the fourth day of the second week, they passed a tiny rock in the Narrow Sea, an barren island men called the Oyster. Not far from that place they encountered a great fleet, coming out of the sunset towards them. A dozen longships and galleys and a great three-decked dromond named Hammer of the Waters pulled alongside them and turned to match their course. Davos allowed the great dromond to draw near to them and send over a small boat. Ser Jason Mallister nimbly climbed onto the deck. Meeting Davos here had been no mean feat of seamanship, and Davos was happy to see him.

“So you caught our wandering princelings, did you?” Jason Mallister was a tall, thin man with hard eyes and a bright smile.

“Aye, Lord Mallister.” Davos merely nodded in reply.

“Ha!” Jason clapped Davos on the back in greeting. “Ah, this is a fine thing to celebrate! Where are they?”

“Below decks. They have taken ill in the crossing.”

“Well, take care. We cannot have them dying on us, now can we?”Jason smiled grimly again. “I do not care for the sort of business you deal in, Rat, but I love victory too much to hate you.”

“There is honor in serving the King, even if that service is a dishonorable one.” 

Jason nodded. They had had this exchange many times. “So, Lord Rat, what is your next great mission?”

“A Master of Whispers who answered that question would deserve to be hanged. What of your mission in the Stepstones?”

“Unending,” Mallister stated with relish. “I had to give command to my younger brother for the moment, lest my affairs at the capital and at home grow dusty with neglect. But rarely does a week go by where we do not bring some pirate or smuggler to justice.”

Davos nodded. Some of those men had been business associates. Not many, though. The best smugglers had taken their skills elsewhere or entered Davos’ own employ. “Have the Lyseni made any trouble?”

“They aren’t going to war, and we don’t trade much with them anyway. What trouble could they make for us?”

Davos did not know about that. There was trade with Lys, and more trade with Lys’ close allies, who also might be annoyed at Mallister’s encroachment. Knights and Lords always underestimated the importance of trade. Even so, better to continue the campaign.

“It’s good practice for the men, you know.” Jason stated, echoing Davos’ thoughts. “We’ll need them good and ready when the Ironborn turn on us. Oh, do not give me that look. The Ironborn are as treacherous as they are foolish.”

“They supported us in the rebellion.”

“They raided the Reach for us. I’m sure that was a great sacrifice. They’d have raided the North if it held anything of value for them, or the Riverlands if they thought they could get away with it. Once the Ironborn get a taste of reaving, they’re sure to try again. I hope that your ratmen are keeping their noses keen for trouble from that quarter. This new Lord Balon’s twice the villain his father was.”

Davos was not so sure that Balon’s father had been a villain. The man had died in the rebellion, fighting against Targaryen rule. Still, Jason was right to mistrust Balon. “Your men have been conducting surprise searches on their trading cogs.”

“Of course we are.” Jason didn’t even try to deny it. “The Ironborn are a race of pirates, thieves, and reavers. They don’t understand or value things like honesty and hard work. You’re telling me that they aren’t all smugglers? There are no honest tradesmen from those islands.”

“In my experience, there are not many honest tradesmen at all. Everyone smuggles something from time to time. But the more you harry their trade, the stronger the factions that support reaving become.” His men had intercepted a message from Rodrik Harlaw to one of his relatives worrying over this matter exactly.

“Good. Maybe they’ll rebel, then, and we’ll have an excuse to scour the island clear.”

Davos had nothing to say to that.

The Targaryens were moved to the Hammer of the Waters as they approached Dragonstone. Stannis had turned that ancient holding of the Targaryens into a mighty fortress of the realm. The King’s Fleet docked here between their conquests, as did the few small boats that Davos commanded. Maester Cressen served here, working with Davos’ eldest son to relay messages all across Westeros. Davos made sure that the boy and his little sister were allowed on deck as they passed near the fortress. Best for them to see the power of King Stannis with their own two eyes.

They came to King’s Landing the next day near sunset, smoke rising from the city like steam from a pile of fresh manure in winter. King’s Landing was disgusting, foul, and yet Davos still found her beautiful. It was not as large as most of the Free Cities, nor as clean as a place like White Harbor, but King’s Landing was his home. Praise the Seven that this great, stinking, awful city had not been allowed to burn. A hundred of the Stormguard were present to escort them at the docks, along with a heavy carriage. Good. The city had a hunger for Targaryen blood these days, and if the people should see the children, he feared what they might do. Not even the Stormguard could hold back the rage of King’s Landing.

Still, the procession to the Red Keep was hedged in on all sides by shouts and jeers. Daenerys kept trying to crawl to the window to see what all the noise was. Viserys held onto her tightly, flattening his back against the seat of the carriage. It seemed like yesterday that Viserys’ birth had been news for celebration and feasting in the city. These children were so young.

Jon Arryn greeted them at the gates of the Red Keep, his great heavy robe fluttering gently in the breeze. Davos dismounted and kneeled to him.

“I was pleased to hear news of your success, Lord Davos.” Jon stated. “Rise, ser. The King will be very happy to see the last of the Targaryens put away into the Maidenvault when he returns.”

“He is not here?” Stannis would have come to see this thing done, he felt sure.

“No,” Jon stated. “He is on a mission of diplomacy at the moment. Lady Lyanna, Willas Tyrell, and many others prevailed upon him to go on a hawking expedition into the Kingswood.”

Davos sucked in a deep breath. What Master of Whispers was he, that the Hand had to tell him the King’s whereabouts? He did not like feeling unprepared. But that had been the risk he had accepted when he had decided to oversee this task personally. His network of spies was centered here, not in Braavos, and all news he received there would be much delayed. In any case, he trusted that his son and trusted friends would be watching for threats. No, he had little to fear. It was only his pride that was in danger. He exhaled. “Well, the children aren’t going anywhere. There’s no real worry if Stannis is not here.”

Viserys and his sister looked very small indeed as the knights of the Kingsguard escorted them to the Maidenvault. The boy looked up pleadingly at Ser Barristan, and the old knight just shook his head sadly in reply.

They were but thirty paces away from the Maidenvault when a piercing shriek tore through the air.

The Kingsguard rushed into action, scooping up Viserys and Daenerys and ushering them into the vault. Others followed Jon and Davos and Jason, swords drawn, as they ventured deeper in.

Elia Martell crouched in the center of one of the rooms, wailing piteously. She whirled on them as they entered, her skin stained dark with tears. “Where is he?” She hissed. “Where is my little Aegon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun!!!
> 
> This is the first of a couple of big twists. Cheers, and thanks for reading!


	14. More than One Reason

“I’ve come too far South, Lyanna, I tell you,” Wendel’s fat face dripped with sweat, trickling down from his broad hat all the way down to his double chin. “This heat will kill me where I stand if I do not find any shade.”

Wendel and Lyanna were walking through an open field in the Kingswood near where the hawking party was practicing. A simple hawking trip became a massive affair for the kingdom when Stannis was involved. Servants, Stormguard, tradesmen, and nobles all buzzed about the field as though it were a fairgrounds. It was rather warm for a spring day, even considering how far south they were. “Come now,” Lyanna replied. “Surely you are not afraid of a little sun?”

“Fear is for lesser men,” Wendel scoffed. “But so far south as we are, I am rather a Merling out of water. I fear that should I linger here too long, I will be cooked.”

Lyanna smiled politely. “Why did you come on this trip then? Surely it was not compulsory?”

Wendel smiled. “Your company is reason enough for me. I should think it would be reason enough for any man.”

“And I am grateful for yours. But there is no need to be so gallant, ser. No man ever has only one reason for a thing.”

“He might if a woman is involved. A man in love will do anything for the target of his affections.”

“You mean, a man will do anything he would otherwise have done already, but say that he did it for love.” Wendel moved to protest, but Lyanna pressed on. “I’ve seen men win tournaments for their true love. I’ve never seen a man lose a tournament for his love.”

Wendel laughed. “Of course! What glory is there in failure? That would be like presenting a bouquet of crushed roses!”

“Ah, but crushed roses smell the sweetest.”

“A fair point! The image of a crushed rose, that was a poor choice on my part.” He cleared his throat. “But to speak of flowers, what reason does the winter rose of the North have to meet here with all these southern flowers?”

Lyanna’s eyes cut sharply to inspect Wendel’s face, ice rushing through her veins. A Winter Rose, he called her? Did he know what he had just implied? His features were calm, unaware of the insult he had paid her. She let out a breath. Wendel had likely never heard that story, or else he had not made the connection.

The Winter Rose was what some called the Stark maid of legend that had run away from home to be with Bael, the King Beyond the Wall. She had been called many names in the capital, but that one rung true, and so she hated it more than all the others. But there was no use in getting angry with Wendel. He had probably heard some lout in the castle call her that name and had thought it a sweet compliment.

“I have no political interests,” Lyanna managed, “Hawking is pleasant and I have not left King’s Landing for years. I have no other design at this point in my life other than my own contentment.”

“That is not good news,” Wendel stating, shaking his head. “Hunger, Lyanna, is what makes men do great things. Pigs and sheep do not desire greatness, but men are hungry.”

Lyanna laughed, causing Wendel to start. Had he really just called her a pig? And yet, she could not be insulted, since now she knew that his courtly mask had dropped. Wendel was a fine, gallant man, but around her, he sometimes put on airs that did not suit him. “Hunger, Ser Wendel? You have known it in your time?”

“Of course!” Wendel stated. “It is always fat men who feel the hunger most keenly. How else do they become fat? A starving man wants only enough food to live. A fat man wants all the food in the world.”

Lyanna thought about that a moment. “I suppose I can agree with that,” she said eventually. “At the end of the war, I wanted little indeed.”

“And now? Do you again have appetite for something more?”

She did. But Wendel need not concern himself with her plans for the present. She simply smiled to him. “I suppose that I must leave the greatness to you.”

“I had best be about greatness, then. I see a man over there from Gulltown with whom I must speak.”

This was Wendel’s true purpose. The man had been sent by his father to court her, but also to speak with nobility who controlled trade into White Harbor. A man always had more than one purpose for a thing. In any case, he was only here socially; Wendel did not keep a hawk. “Well, if you are off to speak of trade, I will not detain you. The skies are calling to me.”

He bowed awkwardly, his shirt bunching up around his neck as he did so, and they parted ways.

Finally alone as she walked, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. Winter Rose. That had been another of Cersei’s inventions. The Queen did not know the truth of the name. She could not have. Lyanna had told no one but Ned that she had been willing at first. Cersei suspected, however, and there were enough fools in the Red Keep who would believe the story without proof. She could see Cersei’s sly smile in front of her now, knowing, cruel. Lyanna wondered what she said to Stannis when they were alone together. Did the King suspect that she had gone willingly with Rhaegar? Had he sent his Rat to sniff out whether she had any loyalties to the Dragons? Would Barristan have known? Davos Seaworth’s gentle, implacable eyes rose before her and she shuddered, despite the warmth.

Enough. See only victory. Do not give defeat a place. If she doubted that her goal was possible, it might as well be. This trip was only the first step of thousands, and Cersei’s smirking face could not be allowed to stand in her way. There was no proof that could condemn her, and they could do nothing to her even if there was.

Stannis’ party was not far ahead. Willas’ great golden eagle was wheeling overhead. The massive beast dwarfed Stannis’ little goshawk. Even Brighteyes, the largest gyrfalcon Lyanna had ever seen, was only half the size of Willas’ Farwind. She mounted the horse they had provided her, fetched her bird from the mews, and rode to meet them.

“Ah, Lady Lyanna comes to join us!” Willas greeted her with a smile as she approached, turning his horse to the side to face her. Willas looked as well as ever. Young, handsome, bright. She smiled to think what a handsome man he would be in time. Stannis loomed behind him like a thundercloud, his lean face somber and unwelcoming. The King was scarcely older than Lyanna, but looked half again his age, with faint lines beginning to trace their way across his face.

“Apologies for my lateness, your Grace, Willas,” she allowed, bowing to each of them in turn. “I see that Farwind is already in the air. Are you going to be making more sport for us today?” Willas had somehow taught his great eagle to go after larger prey. He had even set the bird on a startled young doe the previous day.

“Perhaps,” Willas allowed with a knowing smile. “Perhaps if you return the favor.”

Lyanna smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair beside her ear. Brighteyes was the most responsive bird Lyanna had ever seen. She could make her do anything she wanted. She would stay calm without a hood on, fly to whichever man she pointed, and let strange men touch her. Benjen had done a marvelous job training her.

“Willas already ‘making sport,’” Stannis stated flatly. “Hawking is the hunting of birds, and is sport. Your other efforts take it beyond that into the realm of mummery.”

Lyanna drew in a breath. If one of her brothers or Willas had said such a thing, she would have taken it for a jape. But Stannis was King and did not jape. She released her breath in a rush. “Even so, your Grace, is there anything wrong with a bit of mummery?”

Stannis did not reply. He had not smiled at their earlier ‘sport’ in the days previous, but he neither had he objected. Had he been silently resenting them all week? Lyanna’s eyes went to Willas’. His face was as unreadable as Lyanna’s own, but something of an understanding passed between them.

“Your Grace,” Willas slowly added. “I apologize if I gave offense with my showmanship.”

“None was taken,” Stannis stated curtly, his jaw clenching forcefully. “Now, since Lady Lyanna is here, we should get the hunt started.”

They rode in a large group, spread out through the woods as they moved. Even the King’s’ bad mood could not dampen her spirits today. All her plans might be for naught, but the joy of riding again was enough to renew her.

She pulled her horse close to the King. This was a less formal setting, so such a thing was permitted, even if the Stormguard and the Kingsguard clustered around them. “My King,” she began with uncertainty. She was no diplomat. But she must try. Her Jon deserved that much. And in any case, what did she have to fear? The King was even worse at conversation than she was. “My King, I fear that this hunting trip is rather a tedious affair for you.”

Stannis did not turn to face her. “I am not given to hawking as a performance for strangers,” he said definitely. “I continue the practice only because it is a relief from the snakes and lickspittles that plague me.”

She laughed at that. “Is that how you see us, your Grace?”

Stannis half-turned to her, his frown deepening. “Perhaps not. But do not take me for a fool, Lady Lyanna. I know well enough why you are here.”

“A woman can have more than one reason for a thing, Your Grace,” Lyanna replied, keeping her voice light as much as was possible. She supposed that she had not been half as clever as she had thought. But if the King knew her reasons, perhaps that was a good thing. If manners were a shield, blunt honesty was a warhammer. “My Jon poses no threat, and I would convince you of that, but riding and hawking are reason enough to leave my son behind, at least for a moon. Besides, what great evil is there in knowing the important men of the realm better? No doubt you have similar designs.”

Stannis clenched his jaw. “It galls me. Loyalty is owed and trust is earned. Everything else is wind when blood begins to flow.”

“If House Stark has not earned your trust by now I hardly can guess what more you would have us do.” She willed her jaw shut, cursing her own glib tongue. But Ned had given Stannis his crown and asked for nothing in return. What business did Stannis Baratheon have insulting the honor of a man like that?

“Your brother is loyal. Loyal to Robert's memory.” Stannis scowled. “We both know who he would have preferred on the Iron Throne. Robert is dead and I am a king, and still, his shadow hangs over me.”

“And why should Ned prefer you as King?” Lyanna replied hotly, her face reddening even before she finished speaking. Twice now she had spoken without thought, but there was no retreating now. “Robert was like blood to Ned. He broke a realm for my brother’s vengeance. You have never spoken to my brother but to tell him what he owed you, and the one thing he asked of you, which was his right, you withheld from him.”

“Is this what you think it means to rule?” Stannis snarled. “To buy loyalty with reckless favoritism? Or is it merely Robert’s excess that you loved him for? Should I drown myself in wine and bury myself in a pile of whores?”

“I did not say that.”

The Stormguard and the rest of the party had pulled away from the barbarous conversation. The king rode in stormy silence, refusing to reply. Lyanna did not ride away, but neither did she move to speak. This conversation had become dangerous, and she needed to choose her words carefully.

“My brother loved yours,” she eventually said, her voice low and quiet. “But do not think that his love was blind. Some men praise other men for drinking and whoring, but my brother saw it for what it was. Robert may have been a great king, he may have been a poor one, but that had nothing to do with my brother’s bond with him. As to me, I was betrothed to him when I was only four and ten but even then I knew what his appetites would mean for our marriage. I feared Robert, your Grace.”

The king continued in silence for a time. They had nearly come to the hill from which they planned their hunt. Just before they stopped, he looked her in the eyes. “It was beneath me to offer insult as I did,” he said, his words stiff but genuine.

A sliver of a smile spread over her face without her prompting. An apology from Stannis Baratheon? That was a rare gift indeed. She shook her head. “It was beneath me to respond as I did,” She stated hurriedly.

Willas Tyrell had been lagging behind, speaking with several of his attendants. Now he caught up to them, his great eagle perched on one arm. “The Seven favor us with clear skies, your Grace. I think we shall have a fine hunt today.”

The King did not reply immediately, merely looking out over the woods. He sucked in a deep breath of air and nodded. “Clear skies, yes.” He turned to Willas. His face was as dour as ever, but Lyanna noted that he held his head a little higher than he had before. “Come on then, get a hood over your bird. I want to see mine fly before noonday.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite chapter so far in the story. Hope you enjoy the character interactions as much as I do!


	15. Chapter 14: Dragon Soup

“I have made no mistakes!” Santagar yelled. The Dornish Kingsguard’s face was a rictus of grief, as though it had been his own child that had been taken. “A dozen of those maids were coming and going, but I knew all of them. They were the same servants that have always worked here. The fault is not mine! The Spider must have tunnels in the Maidenvault.”

Davos sucked in a breath of air. Everyone knew the stories, that Maegor the Cruel had filled the Red Keep with trapped secret tunnels, and killed the men who had built them. The Maidenvault had been built later, but there was at least one tunnel that led into it. Five of the best thieves in the city had searched for three months and had only found that one tunnel. Davos could only pray that there were not more.

“You will know the names of every person who came in and out of this vault, then?” Davos had considered confining the Maidenvault’s staff to the building as well, but the idea had seemed too extreme. Now he wished he had.

Santagar’s eyes burned. “Yes,” He growled. “I know their names. Twenty of them were coming and going, getting the new dragons’ quarters ready. I know every one of their fat smallfolk faces. They are all of the people your man chose.”

Davos nodded. “Very well.” He would have to interview them all, of course. He looked down the passageway. Elia was in a room at the end, weeping uncontrollably. Davos’ face tightened. A crying woman was a tragedy, a thing that demanded a response from a man. But he was not a man. He was a Rat, and however much she cried, Elia Martell was alike to be a traitor as anyone. “My thanks, Ser Aron.” He turned to Barristan and the other assembled Kingsguard. “I fear I must now beg your leave, sers.”

Barristan nodded. “We will put aside all of our other duties for now. The Queen and the King’s daughter must be secured, as well as the rest of these children.” He paused a moment, his eyes deadly serious. “Find the boy, Lord Seaworth,” Barristan pleaded. Elia’s son and daughter were like grandchildren to him.

Davos bowed and made his exit. He would make no promises yet, to Barristan or to anyone.

Grandmaester Pycelle appeared at his elbow as he walked through the courtyard. He slacked his pace momentarily so as not to exhaust the man. “Word has been sent,” Pycelle offered, “but we cannot send a raven directly. The King will know nothing of this matter for some time yet, and it will be longer still until he returns.”

“If the King could be here in an hour, we still could not wait for him. Has the Hand been informed?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“If you see him, tell him...” Davos paused. Lord Arryn would expect him to come to the Solar to discuss the issue first. But no, there was work to be done, and Davos had to do it. “Tell the Hand what I told you, and tell him that I have gone to work.”

He left the Maester behind, only to see his oldest son coming towards him. “Dale!” he called out.

“Father, I heard-”

“Never mind that. Allard took a list of names from the Kingsguard. I want you to track everyone on that list down. They should all be here in the Red Keep still. Gather them in the Hall of Justice and get an account from each of them. Hold them there until I say otherwise. If you find anyone on the list that’s missing, you know what to do.”

Dale nodded mutely and walked quickly away. He was a good lad. Davos walked faster. Aegon was a good lad too, and whoever was doing this was more likely to get him killed than anything else. He waved over a contingent of the Stormguard and kept walking. Soon he walked along the dirty back-alleys that ran next to the wall. He pushed open the door of a deserted shack and walked over to the corner of the shack’s single room, where a decrepit closet stood.

“If anyone comes out of this closet, you’re to restrain them by any means necessary.” Davos ordered the Guard. There were three exits to the tunnels outside the Red Keep that he knew of, and this was one. He would need a group of Stormguard at each…. He would need to close the gates to the keep as well, at least for now. There was a chance that Aegon was still in the Red Keep, and if possible it would be best to keep him there. But if the boy was already in the city, his efforts to seal the keep would be useless. Davos glowered. All choices might yet prove ill.

Two hours later, he was standing before Lord Arryn. “-That’s all we know so far,” He stated. “One of the maids, an older woman named Sindee, has gone missing, and it is to be assumed that she is the guilty party. My men are searching the city up and down for her.”

Lord Arryn nodded. Even in such a troubled time, his face remained clear from worry. “You think she is still in the city?”

“Rhaenys claims to have seen the boy sleeping in his bed that morning, just a few hours before his absence was noted.”

“Hardly a reliable witness.”

“I believe her.” She had been able to tell him which toys were on the floor around the bed and she could remember the color of the child’s blankets. Children often concocted fanciful tales, but their imaginations were rarely so accurate. “In any case, I’ve sent word up and down the Kingsroad. Every merchant and pilgrim on the roads today will be searched.”

Lord Arryn looked to Lord Mallister. “And the Blackwater Bay?”

“Airtight,” Jason stated. “Anything larger than a bit of driftwood is being stopped. The dragonseed can’t escape by water.”

Davos shifted uncomfortably, which earned a raised eyebrow from Lord Arryn. “I do not think anyone will try Lord Mallister’s blockade,” Davos allowed. “So long as the sun is up.”

Davos could feel Jason’s eyes boring into the side of his head. “I suppose you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? You-”

“Lord Mallister.” Jon’s voice was gentle but firm.

Jason held his tongue.

Jon nodded. “Imry Florent?”

Imry stood at attention a few feet away, his feet square and his hands locked behind his back. The man had been rushed here from the Sept of Baelor, and it showed. His clothes were unkempt, and Davos could see some soot on his leggings from where he’d been kneeling. Davos appreciated that the man had not wasted time on his appearance before coming here. “The goldcloaks have been given a description of the boy, and of the servant. If they’re in the city, we’ll find them.”

Davos doubted that the goldcloaks would turn up anything more than a few whores. There was nothing to do about that. The captain of the goldcloaks, Ser Semiv, was a good man chosen by the King himself, but one good man could only do so much in a sea of incompetence.

Jon smiled. “I trust that you will all do your duty. If you do not, the King will hear of it when he returns.” Those simple words were as threatening as anything Jon could say, although for his part Davos was not worried. He had failed, no doubt, and that galled him, but King Stannis was not unreasonable. Even if he should bear the blame, there would be other chances for him to serve.

He bowed and retreated from the chamber. This portion of the Red Keep had been cleared of servants, as part of the Kingsguard’s efforts to keep the queen and the princess safe. Davos would have told them that a multitude of servants was more security than a dozen Stormguard. With the passages so empty like this it would be easy for a man to slip through these halls unmarked.

“Lord Seaworth.” A woman’s voice, stern and commanding. Davos felt his spine turn to steel. He stopped in the hallway and turned.

“My Queen,” he said, stiffly bowing.

The queen’s green eyes had turned almost red. Lines of worry creased her fair brow. Some said she was the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms, and Davos supposed that she was as pretty as anyone else who bore that title, but today she looked haggard indeed.

“Your men’s efforts have been focused in the city so far.” It was a statement, not a question. “Is catching the dragonspawn more important to you than securing the royal family?”

“The royal family is the domain of the Kingsguard,” Davos demurred. “The sort of men I employ are not suited to such a station.”

Cersei sniffed. “On that second matter, we agree. But if there are tunnels beneath the Maidenvault that you didn’t know of, then surely there are tunnels in the Red Keep as well.” She tilted her head. “You have been lax in your duties, Lord Seaworth, and still you do not search out these tunnels.”

“I searched out all the tunnels I could find,” Davos lied. He had not searched them all out. Some were only large enough for children or dwarfs, and he would not employ children. Those tunnels ate men alive, and some had begun to claim they were haunted. The truth was worse: Not all of Varys’ little birds had been cleared from their nest. His men had half-a-dozen skirmishes against those little monsters, each one bloody and desperate. Every day they expanded their hold in the tunnels, breaking stone and mortar to expand their reach, but telling Cersei all of this would do no good. “I could search a month more and not find another one. For the meantime you are well-guarded.”

“Do not presume to tell me whether or not I am secure,” Cersei stated cooly. “Or do you think I have forgotten how you told the King that the Dragonspawn were secure?”

“Even if some foreign agent makes it to your chambers,” Davos stated firmly, “they’d only meet Horpe, Selmy, Santagar, and half a dozen Stormguard.”

The Queen’s expression darkened. “Do not question me, Lord Onion. You will see to my child’s security if you know what is good for you.”

“I obey the King and his Hand,” Davos stated firmly. “If you have a grievance, take it to them.”

The beginnings of a snarl formed on her face. Davos did not care for the queen, but for once he sympathized with her. She was a mother who feared for her children, and if there was any fear that was not shameful, it was that. But her fear was needless. If someone had meant to kill the queen and her daughter, they could have done so in the hours before Aegon’s kidnapping had been discovered. “I will pray,” She said eventually, her jaw flexing with effort as though she were screaming and not speaking. “I will pray to the Mother, that she will keep my children safe, and I will pray to the Father, that he will bring worthless fellows to light.”

Davos bowed. “We all trust to the Seven, my Queen.” He was not so pious as the Queen, but he could respect a person of faith. He turned on his heel and walked away before she could reply.

Davos walked. The stone beneath his feet gave way to cobblestones, then gravel, and finally dirt as he descended into the belly of the city. The stench of Flea Bottom settled around him like a comfortable cloak, more familiar and welcoming than all of the Red Keep’s enticing scents. Davos had ascended high indeed, but those who called him a rat spoke true enough. He would always sleep better in the gutter than on a featherbed, though he preferred a hammock to either. Perhaps, though, his children would become accustomed to a better life.

Red Jon Roony was waiting for him in the Leaky Nagel. Davos considered himself fortunate that the man had been available to speak on such short notice. But then, he did pay well for the man’s time. Roony was a long, lean man in a simple shirt and vest. Thick, ugly scars crossed his hands, neck, and face. There were a hundred fantastic rumors about the man’s scars, but Davos did not pay them any mind. Red Jon had run his business on the docks since before most of the other bosses were children. You feared Roony because he was elbow-deep in the blood of men who had crossed him, not because his face was an ugly mess.

“Davos,” the man stated, his voice all gravel.

“Roony.” Davos sat down quickly. “There’s a boy that’s gone missing.”

“I’ve heard.” Roony’s ugly face split into a cackling smile. “Goldcloaks arrested Molly Malone, thinking she was the girl you was looking for.”

Davos sighed. Malone was a brawny, middle-aged spinster who sold shellfish and didn’t remotely resemble the missing Sindee. “The Goldcloaks are doing their duty as best they know how.”

Roony laughed. “Well, you know I haven’t seen anything. The boys is watching half the coastline, and if we’d seen anything we would’ve told you.”

“Any strange ships in town?”

“No more than usual.” The scarred man grimaced as swallowed a gulp of wine. “I know most of the captains, but there’s always a few fresh fish. Everyone’s story smells good, though, and nobody tried to leave suddenly this morning.”

“Anyone from Pentos?”

“You think they’re that foolish?”

“Everyone’s a fool at some point.” Davos poured himself a cup of wine. “With patience and vigilance enough, you could catch the gods themselves.”

A cracked smile. “Aye, I taught you that one, didn’t I? Now I know you didn’t come here just to ask me about ships from fucking Pentos, now did you?”

“No.” Davos leaned in. “I’ve got a different idea altogether.”

The next few days passed by in a storm. Davos took to sleeping in a small alcove just outside the Small Council’s chamber. The goldcloaks turned the city inside out, and every ship and wagon for a hundred miles was searched, some more than once. The queen prayed and the ratmen hunted, but it was all for naught. Davos had expected this.

As the week died, the King returned, a rolling mountain of rage with a hundred Stormguard shortly behind him. The Small Council was waiting for him when he returned, his cloak still wet with rain.

“I take it from your expressions that nothing has been found?” Stannis’ jawline clenched and unclenched furiously.

“If the boy escaped,” Jason Mallister stated firmly, “it was not by sea.”

“Nor is he in the city,” Imry Florent added. “There’s no place we have not looked.”

Stannis’ eyes tightened. “And now Davos will tell me that there is no way that they escaped by land.”

“Hardly,” Davos said. “If they had a measure of luck, they might very well have eluded me, or Mallister, or anyone one of us.”

Stannis only scowled in reply.

“Perhaps,” Imry spoke, anxious to break the weight of silence. “If we cannot find the boy here, we should look elsewhere. It is easy enough to guess where the dragonspawn will emerge when this is all over. Aron Santagar is a Dornishman, why should he not assist his liege’s brother?”

“Have a care, Florent,” Barristan’s expression was frosty, “When I was a younger man I would have struck you down for so challenging the honor of the Kingsguard. Aaron is a sound man. He may have failed his duty, but-”

“But what? He has a duty to his family, to his former liege. Come, let us search Sunspear and Yronwood and see if a white-haired welp doesn’t turn up.”

“Enough.” Stannis’ voice cut through the din. “I will not have my Small Council squabbling like a pack of dogs. If this is how you all behave when I am away, it is no wonder that this slipped past you.”

Barristan coughed, recovering his composure. “Your Grace, it seems likely to me that your absence is precisely what made our enemies move at this time. When you left, you took a hundred of your guard with you. When Lord Seaworth arrived with Viserys and Daenerys, many more left to escort them from the docks. It is likely that our enemy, whoever he is, was waiting for the Red Keep to be emptied of watchful eyes.”

“If we lack guards,” Pycelle’s voice wavered a moment before continuing. “We might send to Lord Tywin, I am sure that-”

“What, that he would be willing to fill my keep with men loyal to him?” Stannis stated, cutting him off. “I am sure every Lord in the realm would be willing to serve in such a manner. What, are we hedge knights who need to beg Tywin Lannister for aid? We can redouble the Stormguard if we must, but that is a matter for later.”

“Well, you all know where I stand on this,” Imry stated, his chest pushed out. “Things appear rather simple to me. Aron Santagar is the son of a lord who serves Elia Martell’s brother, Elia wants her little dragon to rule, and Willas Tyrell may be conspiring with them all as well for all we know. It was he who pulled you and your Stormguard away from her in the first place.”

“And what, should I stay here, chained to the throne with all my guards?” Stannis growled. “Do not tell me that Willas Tyrell is to blame. If he had not called me away someone else would have.”

“I have known Elia since she was a girl,” Barristan added. There was no tension or threat in his body, but Davos could see a spark in his eyes that was distinctly unfriendly. “She is not given to theatrics or lying. I know what a mother in grief looks like, and she is that. You are a foul man to suggest otherwise, Imry Florent.”

“Regardless,” Half a dozen men had moved to speak, but Jon cut them all off, his voice like a fresh breeze in the stuffy chamber. “If it is the Dornish, they’ve been fools about this. We still hold Elia and Rhaenys, and if they move against us it will go poorly for them. Now, I have met Doran. I do not think he will sacrifice his sister on an altar of ambition. Indeed, if he had schemes that twisted this way, all three of them would have been freed from the vault.”

“Then all this shouting has been pointless,” Stannis stated. “It is as I said when I arrived. None of you can tell me anything of interest.”

Davos coughed. “I did have one thing to add.” Eyes rose to look at him. He touched the pouch on his neck with his short hand. “I cannot produce him, but I think I know where Aegon is.”

Outrage exploded throughout the room. Stannis held up a hand. “Explain yourself, Davos. Speak plainly. Your predecessor may have prided himself on being obsequious, but his manners suit you poorly.”

“I cannot produce him,” Davos continued with a sigh. “Nor have I any proof. But I can say how I would have done it, were I the adversary.” No one said anything to that. They were not suited to this sort of business, these men. Everything was a battle to them, a war of gold and swords and men, and not one of information. He would need to explain this matter fully.

“It doesn’t take any special talent to steal a thing of value, but avoiding capture and divesting yourself of the thing is a difficult matter. There are generally three major ways to go about it. The first is to run. It does not matter if they find it was you if you run fast enough and far enough they’ll never catch you.”

“The path of the craven,” Barristan stated.

“Just so. Now it is possible that our enemy rode fast and hard and was lucky and escaped all of our many nets. But how far would he have to run to truly escape us? I may have a short hand, my lords, but my reach is long. Jason Mallister has a long reach as well, as do others of you. Either he intends to run so far that he is no threat to us, or he will soon appear within our reach and be finished. I do not think a cunning man would try to run.”

“The second major strategy is to hide, and wait until your pursuers grow tired of searching for you. Once again, for a crime this audacious, I do not think that any man would try this. He should know that we cannot stop looking for them, that the boy is vital to the realm’s security.”

“Get to the point.” Stannis’ voice was cold, but not displeased.

“I think our enemy here is employing a bit of mummery,” Davos stated finally. “During the rebellion, the Redwynes and the Dragons cut off all trade going into the Stormlands and the Vale. The price of a bottle of Arbor Gold in the Vale was a king’s ransom, and dozens of men died trying to bring a bottle through the Stepstones and past the fleet at Storm’s End. So naturally, I went to the Saltpans, filled my hull with cheap wine, forged the seal, and sold it in Gulltown as the real thing.”

“Aegon is dead,” Davos said, the words dropping flatly from his mouth. “It would be easy enough for a lone woman to escape our nets if she had no child, and the body of a boy, even one with royal blood, is easily disposed of.”

“No...” Barristan pleaded, and Davos felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Tears welled in the old knight’s eyes. “Why would anyone do such a monstrous thing?”

Davos breathed out through his nose. He felt much the same as Barristan did, but he had to keep his spirits calm. “Our enemy likely has some other dragonseed in hiding somewhere, and when the time is right he’ll produce the false child and say ‘look, here is your king,’ and all will believe him, for everyone will know that we never found the boy. So long as he lived in our care, Aegon was death to the cause of any Targaryen loyalists. But with him gone, there is always the possibility that he might turn up where you least expect it.”

Barristan cursed and Stannis leaned forward from his throne. “Who, Lord Seaworth? You clearly have someone in mind.”

“It’s the Spider. It’s always been the damned Spider.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, scenes like this are hard to write. You want your main character be seen as smart but you don't want it to seem cheap or underwhelming. I think I did pretty well here, but what do you all think?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
